Sinister
Maybe a year ago now, I’d planned on attending a writer’s studio at my local library. I was already hesitant on going in the first place. My choice was made for me on that particular day, though, as I was extremely tired and opted to stay home. Shortly after that, I sort of gave up on going again altogether.
Part of that hesitancy was my own lack of confidence in my own writing ability, despite the praise I’d been given by others. Now that I’m further in my writing journey compared to that first writer’s studio, I feel more willing and confident to share some of my writing with others.
With that being said, I visited the writer’s studio for the first time on February 3rd. I was the only man amongst seven women, one of which was attending remotely, although there were two others that were normally present, one being another guy.
It was nice to sit down with other writers, all of whom are published and more accomplished than myself, for the first time since my trip to Connecticut two years ago to see my old friend Lisa. I didn’t contribute a great deal as it was my first day and I was feeling things out, but I enjoyed my time nonetheless.
Towards the end of the meeting, we were given a prompt to work on over the next month in the form of the photo shown above.
Since I haven’t done any writing other than for my novel since my last publication on here over two years ago, the song lyrics for Gina, I’ve decided that I’ll start sharing my contributions, and any reactions I get, from the monthly prompts. Here is my first submission…Sinister.
Another sunny day by the water. Everything appeared to be calm on the surface, but looks can often be deceiving. I hadn’t yet finished my sesame seed bagel when Jamison called and told me to make for the docks. She hadn’t said why, only to get my ass out here as fast as possible. Why was it always me? Was it because I lived a mere four miles down the road? The fact this has been home my entire life? Whatever the reason, it doesn’t matter in the slightest right now...I’ve got a job to do.
The scene was eerily calm. The chairs on the pier appeared weathered, slowly consumed by the scorching sun over many a year. And the boat on the water with its sail down. That wasn’t too odd on this windless day, but why was it not moving with the current of the river? There must be an anchor and line, out of my field of view, holding it in place.
I’ve traversed this stretch of boardwalk many times over the preceding few months. Whenever I needed a break or couldn’t sleep, I’d take a stroll and try to gather my thoughts while piecing things together from a case at work. In all my many passes through here, I’d never seen that fishing boat before. Who’s the owner, and when did they show up? Both pertinent questions to ask my partner instead of the uniforms upstream a ways. Screw it, I’m not gonna wait for Jamison to show. She’s always late...probably be late for her own funeral.
The fresh stains on the dock already told me that something sinister had occurred recently. Perhaps the perp got spooked and took the jet ski that’s missing. But why that particular one? Was it theirs? Could be a crime of opportunity. I can’t quite remember what the particulars were for the missing watercraft. They’re not easily seen from further up the shore, and my eye for that much detail isn’t what it used to be.
Maybe the stains aren’t from a human victim. Could be some illegally caught fish, maybe even a small gator that was bled out. All someone would have to do is dump the remains of any ill-gotten catch in the drink and nobody’d be the wiser. Still doesn’t explain the jet ski, though. This only furthers the thought that we’ll be lookin’ for another human fatality this time around. The rash of bodies that have been fished out of the river in recent weeks pointed to something serial. Nothing like this has happened around here for a good long time...not since I was kid.
