He trudged along the cobblestone path with no clear destination in mind as the sun began to set on the second Tuesday of September. The beginning of fall could be felt, as the leave around him were falling quickly and Jack Frost began to nip the the noses of unsuspecting dog-walkers. He just wanted a break, a break from responsibilities, a break from reality, a break from life. As he passed by the graveyard, noting that it was unusually full, he wondered if he would ever be successful.
X had been struggling for a while now. Just laid-off from his job as a journalist for a the Portland Tribune, because millennials don’t like reading the news; he didn’t have enough experience with computers, apparently. His long-term relationship, who he still…show more content… He had to cover his mouth in order for his gasp to be inaudible. He sat at the dumpster feeling like trash. How could I be so naive, he thought to himself. He was disgusted in himself. He didn’t know what to do with himself. Should he call out, or should he pretend that he never saw this.
How did someone that he knew so fell do this. Thinking back, X saw all of the signs. Signs that should have warned him to do something, and know it lead to murder. In complete confusion, X watched as the culprit slipped a sweatshirt on and casually walked out of the alley, stuffing all the evidence in their bag.
For now, X decided that heading to his apartment was the best option. He hailed a cab and sat in silence while the cabbie playing some trashy pop song not going out of his way to make any conversation. When he reached the beat-up building, he paid the driver quietly, and he plodded up the three flights of stairs. The familiarity of the creaking stairs helped calm him down along with the smell of the mildewing wood on the roof. After X dug around dug around in his pockets for the key to his suite, he headed for the bedroom to lie down. The instant that he placed his head onto the pillow, sleep carried him far…show more content… Crap, I’m late for work!, he thought to himself instinctively. Only after getting ready in record time, did he remember about being fired. X fetched the Portland Tribune that sat at his doorstep with a scowl on his face and took a seat at his small dining table with a bowl of Cheerios with some warm milk, as he forgot to refrigerate it the night before.
Looking at the front headline of the paper, X ’s memories of the night before flooded back. He saw that there was a killing streak after he left the scene of the crime. The robber, whose identity was only known to him, had killed five more people after the round man that was murdered in front of X ’s eyes. Each time it was the same story. The villain, coined as “The Raven” by the police because of its quick getaways, always started with by mugging their victim and after getting what they wanted, “The Raven” hit the casualty was struck over the head with a blunt object. Six deaths in one night.
X really wanted to call into the Portland Bureau of Police and report all the information that he knew, just like the newspaper said to. The cops were looking in all the wrong directions. I could save the day, X thought to himself. What if they give me my job back for helping? He reached for his telephone and dialed the three