Murder During the Brownouts

This post was originally posted on The Bulletin Board in 2019. 

It was early in the morning on May 3^rd, 1942 when Harold Gibson was walking to work and spotted a woman lying in the doorway that belonged to two shops. At first glance, Gibson thought that the woman was sleeping and contemplated walking on. Movement a little further down the road caught his eye however and he spotted a man dressed in US Military Uniform stooped in another shop's doorway.

Whether or not he was aware he was being watched or if he just decided to continue on their way, the soldier started to walk away from Gibson.

For a second Gibson got a feeling like he needed to follow the man but instead, he pushed it away and turned his attention to the woman who was laying in front of him. Fairly sure that she was asleep, he lit a match so he could see her better.

The extra light allowed Gibson to see that the woman was partially clothed, the only sign that she had been once wearing a dress at all being the belt of one still wrapped around her waist. She lay on her back with her legs folded underneath her and she was badly bruised as if she had been beaten. Carefully Gibson reached over and touched her but there was no response to his touch and he could see no sign that she was breathing.

Finding Old Passions

What did you want to be when you grew up? 

 

I can remember wanting to be a thousand different things. A teacher. A scientist. A model. A singer. An actress.

 

As I got older, I got more specific. I wanted to be an early childhood teacher. I wanted to go overseas and work in England as a Nanny.

 

However, one thing I never really considered was being a writer. Not because I didn’t want to be one but because I had so many other potential career ideas that writing was just a way for me to relax. I considered briefly becoming an author when I was reading The Outsiders and heard that it was written by a sixteen-year-old, but that idea quickly vanished when I learnt that I could be a teacher for children eight years and under.

 

I didn’t stop writing though.