By Rishabh Jain, 10B

Emily was just an ordinary woman with an ordinary job. She worked in a hotel as a room service helper. She liked the way things were going on. Earning and sleeping.

 One day, a perfectly normal one it seemed, she was heading towards cleaning room number 4. It would have been the same case, until a startled dog raced out of the room, running in haphazard circles. Something seemed off, but it seemed perfectly normal for her to investigate. Emily would have gone further in if an ear piercing scream had not filled the air. She stood there, petrified, gawking at the saturnine scene. Her hands flew to her mouth in utter shock, as pools of blood raced out of the body in front of her.

A man laid there; with a knife gone right through his nerves. He was in severe need of help. Emily seemed absolutely clueless on what action to take! She was in a profession where she dealt with bad beds and mattresses, not bodies with ounces of blood coming out of them.

Bending down, she dislodged the knife, which seemed to have been coated with the red of the man’s blood. The next moment, footsteps were heard and they seemed to amplify by the minute, as they were nearing.

Emily’s next sight intimidated her. The hotel manager, Mr. Kent seemed to have been in a different world, perhaps the planet of Krypton. His brain froze for moments and his eyes took in more light than he expected them to, every bit of him went on a pause while his thoughts caught up. After the wash of cold, he stepped from the shadows, feeling new warmth to the day.

The blank expression soon seemed to have changed into one Emily wouldn’t have wanted to see even in the worst of her nightmares. Anger boiled deep in the system of Mr. Kent, as hot as lava. It churned within, hungry for destruction, too much for Emily to handle. The pressure of the raging anger forced him to say things he didn’t mean to say. So he didn’t. He kept those feelings within him. He rushed and called the cops.

Emily didn’t seem to know what was happening. It had not been much time since Mr. Kent had signaled the cops and there were already sirens blaring all along the street. A group of armed men sprinted towards the murder room.

Emily’s shoes were the largest shoes to be filled in at the minute. Her brain had shut down. She was clammy and there was the glisten of a cold sweat. Her eyes were wide, wider than the stomach of a sumo wrestler. Trapped in a psychosis, tailor made by her own brain…she felt that the need to investigate was her fault.

A cop rushed to her and screamed, “Ms Emily Allen, you have your fingerprints all over the knife and therefore, you are under arrest for the murder of Clifford DeVoe.”

…….To be continued