photo credits here, edited
by debraath
She travelled in her red Fiat. In the wee hours of the morning, around 2.35 am. Making a sharp turn at the junction, she slowly drove to her apartment. Her car was the only source of noise in the dark and silent morning.
After a while, she reached her home. The apartment house in which she stayed still had many of its apartment lights on. It wasn’t unusual, her neighbours would stay up due to work or other reasons.
She parked her car in the nearby parking lot, just in front of her apartment building. Carefully doing so, she saw a shadow, or maybe caught a glimpse of it. Shrugging it off, she continued to park her car.
Soon the Fiat nestled nicely between a few other cars, she got out of it. Whistling to herself and swing the car keys on her index finger, she walked towards the apartment. Suddenly, the car keys spun out of her finger and fell on the asphalt floor of the car park.
She bent down to pick it up. A pain suddenly emerged from her back. Touching the location where it hurt, her hand felt wet. She brought it close to a lamp post. Red. She turned around.
A man, standing with a knife a few metres away from her. She screamed. She yelled. She hollered. She did anything she could to stop the man from attacking her.
She wanted to get away from him. She tried to run away. She couldn’t. It hurt too much. Her neighbours rushed to the window. They saw her, and the man who was approaching her.
They stayed silent. They watched. No one bothered to help. She stared at them, silently with tears brimming from her eyes. She tried to take out her heavy water bottle.
She was searching it when the man stabbed her once again. She realised why no one wanted to help her. The truth was that everyone was busy staring. She yelled again. Silence. She began sobbing once more.
She crumbled to the floor. She screamed, “Help me! Someone!” Everyone just looked at her, silently. She crawled to the apartment entrance. The man followed. She scrambled through her bag, trying to find the keys. The man delivered a blow to her head. She fainted.
The man stole her purse and ran off. The residents ran down to the car park after a while. She lay there, blood oozing out from her deep and grave injuries. Mr Oaklands came, the doctor in their apartment. He took her pulse.
“She is dead.”
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