Writing Challenge - Day 3
To all who are reading this,
Whilst I had an initial plan for this piece of flash fiction, it did go off kilter, and somehow ended up the way it is now. I didn't expect it to, but I think it works!
Note the word think.
And I also didn't expect the lovely compliment on my official Facebook page today from a reader - that's made me feel great that people are reading these posts!
Enjoy.
Yours, with eternal ink,
Zoe
---
JUNE PROMPTS YOU TO... WRITING CHALLENGEDAY 3. - TEETH
Tues 3rd JuneThe newspapers are already calling him a mastermind. A criminal genius. Some have even called him the new Jack the Ripper - the infamous and unidentified serial killer of the Whitechapel area, of London in 1888. But we aren't in Whitechapel. We aren't even in London. And it most definitely isn't 1888.
It is 2014, and we are in the heart of the city. The city of Lincoln. I need to be careful. Sitting in a coffee shop, mulling over my cappuccino, I feel the strong desire to write. I am compelled to lay my thoughts out before me in black ink, but every so often I keep checking to see if anybody is watching me. There are few people in here today - there are two paint splattered graduate students sharing a bowl of chips. A harassed looking businessman is reading the newspaper and anxiously checking his fancy mobile phone. A young mother burdened with carrier bags has just entered, her sleeping daughter in a pushchair. I feel safe enough to drop my gaze back to the page, but the mantra repeats itself.
"Be safe".
After all, if this journal entry was ever discovered, I could become the latest victim of The Dentist.
The Dentist cannot be human. The things he does, the things he leaves behind - it is like looking down at stills from horror movies. He's a monster. Every two weeks, a body turns up in some part of the city. There have been body dumps at the cemetery, outside of the shopping center, and even outside a pizza parlour.
The Dentist doesn't discriminate. There have been men, women, and two days ago, the body of a child turned up in a park. There have been full figure and incredibly thin bodies. There has been blondes, brunettes, dyed hair colours. It is the same with eyes. There have been no distinguishing figures to connect them. They are all dead, and the only thing that remains the same is that the front two top teeth have been pulled from the mouth, with surgical precision. The newspapers tell us that the rest of the teeth that have been left are in good condition, and there is nothing to indicate someone other than a professional could have done it. It was they that christened him The Dentist, and gave him status within the media.
All the qualified and practicing dentists from the surrounding area have been examined and cross examined. Each one of them has an alibi for the evenings, and as much as they detest this, they are constantly being monitored. The news crews are rolling in from the surrounding areas, and when I switch the television on in the evening after work, I see some of the reports, live from the body dump sites. It makes my skin crawl.
Who knows what he is doing with them? Who needs multiple pairs of front teeth? Besides Donald Yetter Gardner who wrote that comical Christmas tune. "All I Want For Christmas Is My Two Front Teeth". All I want for Christmas... Well, it's too far away to think of Christmas gifts. Especially when a killer is walking around. If you bought someone a gift, they may not even make it to the holiday season. As morbid as that sounds, it's also the truth.
I don't dare go the police. I'm fearful enough as it is, but the thing is... I couldn't say it before, but now I need to. I know who The Dentist is. And the worst thing is, I'm in love with him. I know - it sounds like someone who would write to a woman's magazine. "Help, I'm In Love With A Serial Killer!" But sadly, it's the truth. I've been in love with him for several years, and I didn't know about his connection to the kills until last night, when he gleefully told me. He's been saving the clippings. Recording the news sections on his phone and searching for them on YouTube. I don't know the full extent of why he does it, how he chooses the victims, but all I know is, he has serious problems. I wish I knew what was going on in his head, but at the same time, I don't, because The Dentist is as human as you and I. He appears like an ordinary man. At work and at home, he acts like an ordinary man.
And that, dear journal, is what makes him even more dangerous.
THE END© Copyright - Zoe Adams (2014)
Currently reading: Rebel Spring by Morgan Rhodes
Whilst I had an initial plan for this piece of flash fiction, it did go off kilter, and somehow ended up the way it is now. I didn't expect it to, but I think it works!
Note the word think.
And I also didn't expect the lovely compliment on my official Facebook page today from a reader - that's made me feel great that people are reading these posts!
Enjoy.
Yours, with eternal ink,
Zoe
---
JUNE PROMPTS YOU TO... WRITING CHALLENGEDAY 3. - TEETH
Tues 3rd JuneThe newspapers are already calling him a mastermind. A criminal genius. Some have even called him the new Jack the Ripper - the infamous and unidentified serial killer of the Whitechapel area, of London in 1888. But we aren't in Whitechapel. We aren't even in London. And it most definitely isn't 1888.
It is 2014, and we are in the heart of the city. The city of Lincoln. I need to be careful. Sitting in a coffee shop, mulling over my cappuccino, I feel the strong desire to write. I am compelled to lay my thoughts out before me in black ink, but every so often I keep checking to see if anybody is watching me. There are few people in here today - there are two paint splattered graduate students sharing a bowl of chips. A harassed looking businessman is reading the newspaper and anxiously checking his fancy mobile phone. A young mother burdened with carrier bags has just entered, her sleeping daughter in a pushchair. I feel safe enough to drop my gaze back to the page, but the mantra repeats itself.
"Be safe".
After all, if this journal entry was ever discovered, I could become the latest victim of The Dentist.
The Dentist cannot be human. The things he does, the things he leaves behind - it is like looking down at stills from horror movies. He's a monster. Every two weeks, a body turns up in some part of the city. There have been body dumps at the cemetery, outside of the shopping center, and even outside a pizza parlour.
The Dentist doesn't discriminate. There have been men, women, and two days ago, the body of a child turned up in a park. There have been full figure and incredibly thin bodies. There has been blondes, brunettes, dyed hair colours. It is the same with eyes. There have been no distinguishing figures to connect them. They are all dead, and the only thing that remains the same is that the front two top teeth have been pulled from the mouth, with surgical precision. The newspapers tell us that the rest of the teeth that have been left are in good condition, and there is nothing to indicate someone other than a professional could have done it. It was they that christened him The Dentist, and gave him status within the media.
All the qualified and practicing dentists from the surrounding area have been examined and cross examined. Each one of them has an alibi for the evenings, and as much as they detest this, they are constantly being monitored. The news crews are rolling in from the surrounding areas, and when I switch the television on in the evening after work, I see some of the reports, live from the body dump sites. It makes my skin crawl.
Who knows what he is doing with them? Who needs multiple pairs of front teeth? Besides Donald Yetter Gardner who wrote that comical Christmas tune. "All I Want For Christmas Is My Two Front Teeth". All I want for Christmas... Well, it's too far away to think of Christmas gifts. Especially when a killer is walking around. If you bought someone a gift, they may not even make it to the holiday season. As morbid as that sounds, it's also the truth.
I don't dare go the police. I'm fearful enough as it is, but the thing is... I couldn't say it before, but now I need to. I know who The Dentist is. And the worst thing is, I'm in love with him. I know - it sounds like someone who would write to a woman's magazine. "Help, I'm In Love With A Serial Killer!" But sadly, it's the truth. I've been in love with him for several years, and I didn't know about his connection to the kills until last night, when he gleefully told me. He's been saving the clippings. Recording the news sections on his phone and searching for them on YouTube. I don't know the full extent of why he does it, how he chooses the victims, but all I know is, he has serious problems. I wish I knew what was going on in his head, but at the same time, I don't, because The Dentist is as human as you and I. He appears like an ordinary man. At work and at home, he acts like an ordinary man.
And that, dear journal, is what makes him even more dangerous.
THE END© Copyright - Zoe Adams (2014)
Currently reading: Rebel Spring by Morgan Rhodes
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