Beach Bum

I saw her when I was on my morning jog down the beach. The sand between my toes, cradling my wide feet while the sun rose over the edge of the ocean.

The pink shawl she wore danced on the breeze. What a beauty. Dark lashes, silk hair. I wondered what her story was.

As I neared, I could see more of her features, the positioning of her body. Not what I expected on my morning run.

She wasn’t resting on the beach. She was dead. Blood was dried around a large gash in her dress, what looked like a knife wound.

I moved closer, stooped, then kneeled, pressed my fingers to her neck. No pulse.

What a treat.

Normally I had to hunt for new specimens for my collection. Never had I ever just found one. I tucked my arms beneath her neck and legs, then carried her stiff corpse back to my garage and closed the door, hoping no one had been watching from their back windows that morning. She would be perfect for my new vase case. I couldn’t wait to start the dissection.

 

THE END

Copyright WB Welch – All Rights Reserved

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, places, events, locales, and incidents are either the products of the author’s imagination or used in a fictitious manner. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental.

Beach Bum

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