My Red Murder

 

There’s a murder in my pocket. A hot red bludgeoning I finger when I’m nervous. From time to time I pull it out and throw it against the wall. Bounce. I catch it on the rebound.

 

Sometimes I forget my murder, leave it on the bookshelf next to my bed. At various times throughout the day I reach into my pocket and feel its absence like tonguing the empty space of a pulled tooth. I won’t forget it again – a workday just isn’t the same without it.

 

Once in a while I share my murder with a close friend, but only in emergencies. Some people don’t have murders of their own so they make do with toys and trinkets. My best friend has an indigo disdain but personally, I wouldn’t be caught with one. I suppose he finds the little bell inside soothing when he’s upset or nervous. My mother has a slap she ties her hair up with when it’s hot or on dressy occasions but my father doesn’t like her hair pulled back.

 

I took my murder to the beach once but it got too hot to hold and it soaked up the salty water becoming too heavy to bounce. When I dropped it on the boardwalk it went thud. I don’t take my murder to the beach anymore.

 

Please, don’t put my murder in your mouth. And don’t forget to wash your hands when you’re done playing with it. Once I got canker sores because I didn’t wash my hands and face after handling it. I keep antibacterial soap with me now.

 

I used to sleep with my murder on my pillow but I had to stop because it affected my dreams and I would wake feeling restless and irritable – I began biting my nails too. One night I awoke and caught it whispering red verbs in my ear so now I put it in a velvet lined box before I go to sleep. I don’t have problems with it anymore.

 

I was young when my dad gave me my red murder. He wrapped it in brown paper bag and a black bow, it wasn’t even my birthday. He’s had a gorgeous boring that he tucks behind his ear for as long as I can remember so I’m not sure how he got to be so good with red murders, but he taught me everything I know: the bounce, the squeeze, “around the world” without a string, the flying verbs, and so on. He’s really good with my murder.

 

The palm of my right hand is a shade of red from constantly catching my murder. It used to be tender too but I’ve developed a tolerance for the sting. I may have tennis elbow from pitching my murder so much but I’m careful to soak it in Epson salt on the evenings I play more than usual. 

 

I’ve never lost my murder – knock on wood. 

 

Once my son turns twenty-five, I want to give him my red murder. My hope is that he’ll pass it on to his son and so on and so on. If it holds up, my murder could become a family heirloom passed from generation to generation. How great would that be?

Reviews

[R J Askew]

Intriguing title made me read. I have never heard of the like before. Is it a sort of worry toy to relieve anger? If so then it is a great idea. I can see that fidgeting with it cld save a lot of aggravation. I like the idea of the murder becomming a family heirloom too...for good service! Sounds like every city dwelling male aged 14-34 cld use one. Also like 'red verbs'.

[Emily B]

how awesome are you?

I want to swim in the pool where you find your inspiration . . .

[Shawna Thomas]

Haha, that was weird! I love that.

[Taylor H]

great story this was really good and creative

[An Ordinary Woman]

Ohhhhhh good, good, in an exciting kind of way! Red murder is like anger held back, a virtue. Or a hot temper. This is good stuff, Eric. It's intriguing for sure. I LOVE the title and actually, the entire concept is very cool! Have I mentioned lately how much I enjoy your writing???