Katherine Hayton | Murder in the garden
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13 Jan / Murder in the garden

There’s been a murder.

A shocking statement to hit you with just out of the blue. But true nonetheless.

It happened on the front lawn. I’m guessing some time in the last four hours. Give or take four hours.

There’s no body, at least that I’ve managed to find thus far, but there is a ton of circumstantial evidence. Or a gram. Depends on whether you’re expecting me to speak literally or figuratively. Or literally in its new use as a stand-in for figuratively since so many people have misused it for so long. Whatever, I could care less.

I feel quite shocked at the moment. When I came inside from the crime scene I had to have a bit of a sit down. I’ll have to lie down shortly, but that’s because I’m going to bed so I possibly shouldn’t be telling you that. Now you’re all going to picture me in bed, aren’t you? I feel violated. Like a celebrity who had her phone hacked and naked pictures spread across the Internet but without all the money and glamour and hot guys and stuff. Except for my darling – he’s my hot guy.

You can tell I’m stressed. That went completely off-track, and that’s so unlike me.

When I walked outside, I didn’t know that anything was wrong. I went out through the back door. Across the back lawn. The only concern I had was that the prickles on the lawn didn’t embed themselves in my feet.

Such innocent times. I can hardly stand to think of myself as I was then. It’s like looking back at myself in a warped mirror.

I cornered the house – that means I turned the corner, not that I intimidated it until it retreated into a corner – and walked up the driveway.

The sky has been cloudy today. There’s been a cool, calm breeze lightly offsetting the heat that’s been present for the last week or so. Summer is acting like summer for a change, instead of a combination of spring and winter. As I progressed along the drive the sky overhead was started to reflect the lowering sun off the bottom of the clouds. A bright line of silver, then refracted into a kaleidoscope of wondrous colour.

I turned the corner. Oh god, I turned the corner.

At first I saw only the grass lawn spread out in front of me. The heat has forced the green of the grass to recede and shade into light brown. It looks like a spark could flame and swallow the entire expanse in the time it takes to draw a breath.

Then I noticed that part of the lawn looked… fluffy. Soft grey and fluffy. It wasn’t right.

I ventured further forward; since the dog not-quite-attack I’m more cautious, but this didn’t look like it would hurt me. I moved closer still.

It wasn’t until I was almost on top of the scene that I recognised what had happened to the lawn. The soft grey colour matched the soft grey feel.

It was feathers. Piles and piles of feathers. A tiny, fluffy multitude of feathers.

So many feathers that I realised quickly that there was no bird that could survive being that naked.

A crime had been committed.

A murder.

By Katherine Hayton in Katherine Hayton's Blog

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