I was having a clear out and found this, thought I'd share it. Any feedback is cool :)
It has a question mark at the top of the page, not sure if I couldn't think of a title or if that IS the title:
As I entered the room, the stench hit me and I backed away a little. It was the stench of poor people, death and sex, with a faint hint of iss mixed in. I sauntered over to where she lay, mangled and mauled.
Her icy lips hung open and a small tear lay on the surface of her cheek. You could still see the fear on her face.
It was like a memory, as if I had seen the brutality crossig her beauty before, but how? I did not know the girl. I had been at home enjoying a coffee and a crossword when I got the call last night.
"Charleton!" the voice that I knew all too well, roared down the phone, "there's been a bdy found, and I want you to see to it!" It was Mr. Thuncliffe, the Chief Constable. So I grabbed my coat and trudged out into the rain, to 33 Walnut Drive, flat 4B. And that's where I found this God Forsaken mess.
It was hard to beleive that the smell was coming from an actual human, or rather, what used to be an actual human, or that this crime was commited by an actual human. I stepped back a little to take it all in and realised, I didn't have to, the room was incredibly familiar. I put it down to an old flame living in the same appartment block. The rooms could be layed out the same, after all, I told myself.
*this was on a seperate page*
I took a sip of my coffee from my white, china mug and my lip caught the chip that a previous argument with the wife had caused. I flicked my tongue over the new scratch and closed my eye, trying to imagine how it had all gone down. The poor girl was only about 25, brilliant blonde tresses sprouted from her scalp, "Well," I thought to myself, "If you were going to do this, rather her than say..Mrs Grundy, the gardener's wife."
"Quit Daydreaming! Get to work!" snapped Mr. Beauford, interrupting my thoughts. In my head was a fat, bulldog with wobblng jowls, spit flying, and I must say, apart from the ears, what was in front of my face matched that description. I pulled out my camera and started clicking away, now this certainly wasn't a moment that a girl would want to be a model, a morbid grin spread across my chops.
Very creepy, reminded me of Jack the Ripper kind of creepy. May I ask what iss means or is meant to abbreviate? Funny thing is that I published a paper I found long ago and published on TeenInk. It became the top Balld of Today. Great short story.