Sargeant

One of my first "short stories" for my Creative Writing class-- it's not due until next week so I'm open to reviews and suggestions. :-) P.S. it took me about an hour to write this

Sargeant

I always arrive on time, sometimes with my hair slightly tousled and mascara smudged, but on time nonetheless. It shows the others that I “care”, that I’m so dedicated to my work that I would place my badge before my own wellbeing. It’s a tact that always goes over well, especially when I’m up for a raise.

A temp hands me my daily chai which I chug before the cup even has time to warm my hands, and with each step I slowly spiral into my routine. If I don’t, I’ll give myself away.

A poker face is good, but soaking my facade in empathy and “it never gets easiers” is even better. Today’s case, the hit and run of a thirteen year old girl, makes it easy to pretend.

“She was so young,” I hear myself sigh to my coworkers. “I can’t believe that anyone could live with themselves after this.”

I could. I could live with myself.

My statement is met with nods and grunts of agreement, and we continue collecting all we can from the slick pavement surrounding the girl: hair samples, particulates, and anything else that the police would deem useful in finding her killer. It’s too bad that the “evidence” will never amount to anything, nor will the evidence of our district’s other twelve ongoing murder investigations. The trails will go cold, the evidence will be locked away, and I will remain a free woman.

“Sargeant, come take a look at this!” an officer barks in my direction.

My belly fills with warmth, and I crack a small smile before turning towards him. Yet another game has begun.