Today she woke up from her bed and incense was burning by the open window, so that the smell didn’t penetrate very deeply. And she sat up out of the bed and continued into the bathroom and made herself ready for the day, albeit in a half-groggy state. Medication taken, she brushed hair and bunned up, then made way to the kitchen. In the kitchen of Alice, coffee is made. She cleaned out the machine from the previous day and added fresh grounds. A knock was heard from the front door which made her turn and move to the door into the hall. A presence was suddenly felt directly behind her, a gloved hand over her mouth and the cold edge of a knife on her neck. The knife sliced flesh and took the life from Alice. Her body fell to the floor and ceased to be. All this had occurred in just seven minutes.
At the same time which Alice had woken up, sat a good Samaritan. The Samaritan had been drinking its coffee and reading Bible in its living room in the home across the road, for this was a housing estate of many houses. The Samaritan had spotted the dark figure of a man enter the house from the side gate and while it knew that this may have been a friend of Alice’s and that Alice was very much entitled to have friends like this, the Samaritan nonetheless found the entrance strange. Why the side gate when not the front door? But then the Samaritan reflected on the rapidity with which it had singled out the figure as a threat and reasoned that this may have been telling of two things: that the Samaritan had racially profiled the figure, which, from this distance, was sure to be unreliable, and that, two, the urge to interfere with a woman’s affairs might indicate the Samaritan’s own incel instincts, which it was making an effort day-by-day to hinder and move on from. Thus as Alice was moving into the kitchen of good coffee, the good Samaritan stayed at its table and continued in Bible. It heard the knocking from Alice’s front door, but a glance showed only the back end of the mailman. Within a few minutes, it witnessed what must have been the dark figure from before leave through the side entrance where it had first seen it. The Samaritan became slightly edged, seeing the figure again, but remembered its teachings. Several more minutes led to a man leaving through Alice’s front door, limping and clutching his face. The man had some stains from some blood. The Samaritan was about to become alarmed when it became unconscious by something it never perceived and this led it to a state of deep sleep, from which it wouldn’t ever re-wake.
About 2 hours before Alice would wake up, woke up the mailman from his crib. His room in the apartment was littered with his undelivered mail. For months now, he had been opening personal envelopes and reading through the contents. What had begun from something he’d seen in a sitcom, now had become a perverse addiction. He was beginning to display erratic tendencies which were eating into his recreational life, getting to the stage that his then girlfriend of the time had recommended her psychologist, very good in her field, to him. The psychologist was aghast with what she saw and desperately recommended the mailman forsake his hobby. It was very difficult for her to realise his problem to him. But then trying to convince a mailman about anything is sometimes very hard. Through many trials and tribulations, she convinced him that he had a problem. So, he had gone on quite well without digging into mail. But self-will is not enough to keep one from their own addictions. And the mailman was not doing it for himself, but his girlfriend, who he loved but could only get proper sexual stimulation from masturbating while reading heartfelt birthday cards. The day before, his girlfriend had entered their room to find mail in stacks, opened, rifled through, dismantled. She left the mailman. This was to be his final day doing the mail. He strapped on the mask and filled the anniversary card with anthrax powder, before sealing it and unmasking. By the time he arrived in Alice’s housing estate where she lived, Alice had just woken up. In his bag he kept the deadly envelope right beside his set of normal ones which needed to be delivered today at the absolute latest. Also was a package intended for Alice which he left at the door with a knock as she wasn’t awake presumably. He continued on through the homes, one-by-one until reaching the place he had been walking towards all along. He clutched the envelope all the way to the door and felt his brains swimming in his mind. His finger pushed the bell, and a police officer opened the door. His Ex-girlfriend had in fact called them there, fearing that her Ex-boyfriend, the mailman, may do something rash. They quickly apprehended him and moved him to the squad car. Ashamed of his own actions, he slunk down the seat and took to a troubled, exhausted sleep.
The hitman entered through the side gate. Alice was awake by this point and escaping the bed’s comforting layers. He didn’t do it. If anything, he helped in the eventual arrest of Alice’s killer, some unknown one who’d found the kitchen knife. The hitman had wounded the unknown one and left Alice’s house, after realising his target was in the home across the road, a self-described good Samaritan which he’d been hired to take care of. This care took the form of a lethal syringe injected into the neck. The hitman decided to unwind at Samaritan’s coffee table. A squad car drove by from further down the estate and taking notice of the blood trail leaving Alice’s home, an officer disembarked to investigate, and the squad car drove on, following the red right trail leading them to the unknown one, who had surely half bled out by this moment. And he was serene.
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