Coffee Run Short Story

Decent Essays
Coffee Run

The body was just lying there. What should I do? Should I call the police? What if they think it was me? No, I am innocent. Am I? Of course I am. I should call the police now. Right?
There was coffee all over the floor. It was mine. I had dropped it when I saw the body. Why would I get coffee? I hate coffee. I only drink coffee when I am in serious trouble and do not know what to do.
My vase was broken. I hated that vase. I am happy that whoever was responsible for this criminal act used that vase. Wait, how do I know he used that vase? How do I know it was a he? It only makes sense. Right?
When I looked at the body, I realized who it was. It was Mr. Tolen, my neighbour. I hated him; he was always asking me if I needed help. I could do things by myself. I was not completely brainless like him. He always tried to get me to come to his “community parties” too. I never went. He should have gotten the hint that I had no interest in going. Then why did I invite him to my house? All I remembered was that I had something important to do, and it involved him. It is good that he died. No, it is not, he should have died somewhere else. It was his own fault that this has happened to him.
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I went to the phone and dialled 9-1-1.
In less than ten minutes, four officers were in my living room. “Could you describe what happened, Mr. Cooper?” one of the officers asked me.
“I went to get coffee half an hour ago. I love coffee by the way, it is my favourite drink,” I said as he scribbled on his notepad. “When I came back, Mr. Tolen was. . . .”
An officer who had been inspecting the floor said, “There are blood tracks leading towards the
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