haven't come up with anything.

Just something I typed up as an intro one night, looking for a little feedback.

The tick-tick-tock of the Grandfather clock was the only thing echoing in the hallway as I made my way towards the ajar door with the iridescent bulb creating freeze frames of my progress to the crime scene.  The smashed open window; the entry way betrayed by the winter wind. FLASH. The rug scrunched up by the Mahogany writing desk. FLASH. Ink dripping into the white rug; creating a darkness to match the grizzly scene surrounding it. FLASH. The night stand beside the bed; drawers ripped out, papers all over, the lamp knocked over bulb flickering from an internal short. FLASH.   A pool of congealing blood settled on the wooden floor beside the lower left of the bed; a slow and off beat drip- drip that tried to match the beat of the clock. FLASH. The center of this morbid masterpiece lay on the bed a la nude throat slit from ear to ear; blood still slowly dribbling out. I couldn't decide what was creepier; the entire portrait flashing in and out, or the old record in the far corner playing “Witchcraft” with Frankie’s voice adding an extra haunting melody to the sadistic scene. I took a sip of my coffee letting the slight burn of the tongue help bring me back to full function. It was 0115 that’s AM for you civilian folks.

Forensics was laying down their markers while the medical examiner was standing near the body.  “Morning Brian, happen to have a T.O.D. for me?” Brian was in his late fifties, grey hair was in almost full control of what used to be dark brown hair, wrinkles were trying to take over his face behind the glasses were deep blue eyes that shined with intellect of more than just his life-time.  “Well since I knew you’d ask, He most likely died between two and three hours ago.” I grunted, honestly it was too early for much more I had a window for the crime both figurative and literal now. Standing by the open window I looked around the crime scene slowly letting each strobe of the light create a mental picture for me to reference. There was a small fabric stuck on the window sill, most likely from the perp. Pointing it out to Mark I left the crime scene behind. “Okay guys bag and tag, pictures, you know how it goes; see you at the office.”

 

Author's Note

Really just looking for an over-all critique.