People give murder a gender far too often, with an axe in the hands and I wonder why so many murders fall under ovations or plain fear and why gender gives murder a fairer face. Watching photographs dissolve and watching them, as the walls are covered in every single murder I’ve uncovered and every missing person I’ve ended up laying hands on to yank them back home, they all blur and sometimes repeat on both walls as I push my feet from the table, shaking the chair in the process, nearly falling backwards as if I were to fall onto the wooden floor and then have my own eyes blood coloured. It’s not a case of nuisance or any other aspects. I tap on the table, ignoring the coffee machine turning the morning on as I hear low grumbles and I just look back at the papers, drinking more water from the jug, spilling some water into my collar, but I don’t move, my eyes still fixed on the photo of the man right in front of me.
“Morning.” I grumble as I get a kiss on the cheek and with enough counting seconds, the door will close again and I’ll be left alone to read all the text messages of everything he wanted to tell me in the morning. I still pick up the fucking phone, half an hour later.
“Yeah. I’ll be done by lunch time, let’s eat. Yeah, have a good lesson. Love you. I’ll choose the place. I’ll send you the address.” I leave a voice mail to Elijah, wondering how much longer until all of my hair goes entirely gray, as I cradle my head between legs, wondering how many more men will I interview and end up falling into place.
Fail becomes like a high school test, ridiculous because more will come and life will never end up not unraveling itself to it’s bloodiest extent. And with the thought of lunch and actually having my mind more made up and knowing where to go, I exit the house, checking the door twice and walking past the fences with the barking dogs, pulling the coat collar up, realizing the forgotten scarf with the newfound April snow of the north. And the car doesn’t even start up on a series of misfortune events until it does. It becomes odd to knock on houses, waiting for the person to show up, instead the missing person shows up as if expecting for pizza.
I look at newly found Brandon’s shaggy, overgrown hair and untrimmed beard which was perfectly kept on photos and I wonder how often had he even hid under the tables for no reason and how long would misery trail a slimy end on his face. Walking in, among the dead animals which leave the cut end shadows on the walls, I wonder what would I even say to a person who ends up being where I had expected it, after putting too many photos together and reminding myself of deaths I had never seen and women who had twirled with their deceased lovers while crying on no ends.
And it’s never comforting to know that we can disappear with everyone’s fear of never going under the radar, because people will never pick the culprit’s nails to lift them up to hear the dead’s scream. So once one is found and there have been no killers by the end of the day, it becomes as if you’ve found the lost necklace on the other side of the mirror, but it’s never on your side. The question is, how come it is the reflection that never lies?
And how did the boyfriend react to his boyfriend having a lover under his table all this time, watching and I wondered if it had even been a fetish or actual polygamy and it seemed a bit calming rather than having the wife of Brandon accuse that he had been killed by another man, since that’s all we’ve done as she just sat across me and then corrected herself hastily after saying that I should know how men are, as if forgetting who I always was. But that ends up happening to people who knew you before you’ve known yourself, so I left her, as she excused herself and now I’d have to tell her that her boyfriend had indeed been with another man only alive in his arms. And sometimes those had been the worse and seeing Elina cringe just annoyed me at the steering wheel.
Sometimes cases were pretty boring and just reminded me of how I had missed alcohol after a case, but medication doesn’t mix with alcohol at all and drugs are out of the question so it just becomes far too tiring to even look at dull reality even if at my job it seemed highly ironic to complain and I ended up driving too much around before going back to Elina’s and this was still before lunch time as predicted. I knocked on her door, hearing nothing. And just leaving her a small note in her mail box, asking her to please come out and she hadn’t.
Maybe Brandon had called before the police got to him. I walked out of the building, smoking already, at least something to haze out on, feeling myself a bit dizzy, wondering if I had stood up far too early, feeling life slip away from me and I wondered if I should’ve had children and I felt odd at the gray area where Elijah said he’d want to make sure all the documents were in place first and we talked about it. He was more scared of becoming a father than I was.
I didn’t write anything to Elina, just presuming that perhaps it is better to remain quiet until I can speak to her. I end up smoking two cigarettes, walking past the quiet streets past the vinyl stores and underwear stores, still feeling a shiver from bras, knowing that it hasn’t been that long and then I had just started counting my gray hairs. I wondered if they kept coming because I didn’t mind the salt and pepper on my hair.
“Please don’t forget the job letter.” I wrote to my husband again, holding the cigarette between my teeth, typing with two hands again as if I were lost. And I end up choosing a cafe instead of Elijah, adding that I’m really early getting a coffee in a small local chain, hoping that he would perhaps join me soon and I rub my eyes. It’s a bit odd to think sometimes in small towns when you come from bigger and there seems to be too much going on that you feel as if you’re in a sea of stars, you’ll only matter as a constellation.
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This came out as an idea because I was in love with the character of Alex in Poison the Rose which was investigating Lana's death and I kind of wanted to expand on him but as I was writing I ended up derailing and making an entirely different character and set of characters really. And the second plot which came to was something I was actually going to use for a Dean/Jack Dead Weather fanfiction, so I'll have to use something else there xD so it ended up being two plots mashed up and then as I was writing I realized that there is a subject I haven't touched yet so that's up to the second chapter to speak of it more openly.
Also I do trans characters in fanfiction, but I mostly use it for fiction as then I can make it more personal, but of course Blue/Jacket kind of breaks that rule and is surely the most honest trans story I've ever written and I think ever will, because it's rather painful to write.
And there's kind of more ground I want to cover and my fiction is something I'm always really scared of since mostly I'm read for fanfiction and that's what I mostly write as well. And I tend to write mostly trans men or fluid or androgynous people really, since that's what's closer and what should have visibility.
I like detectives even if I don't watch too many or read too many and mostly because I don't like weak love lines anywhere and detective ones are mostly where that falls under unfortunately. I do plan on rewatching and watching a few things to get more inspired. I think Life on Mars inspired this greatly and I'll be rewatching it.
I'm bad with names so I went with a generator giving me ideas and I ended up going from there with Elijah. Elina comes from the sole fact that when I was growing up I used to be obsessed with this comic called W.i.t.c.h. and they translated Elyon to Elina and I liked that name, mostly because I used to admire this girl which was older and we were friends and she said that Elina was more prettier than Elyon. I grew up rather lonely and she had been a great friend. We don't keep in touch, but I hope she is well and unfortunately falls under the category where I wouldn't come out to, because of fear. When I was growing up I only had like two or so female friends which I was attracted to so I was actually friends with many girls and was annoyed at their whole desire of making me their boyfriend or making advances because I wasn't into women, even if I mused on my sexuality.
I stopped going gray actually, power of... vitamins and health? I still like gray haired characters. I remember when I used to volunteer there was a butch woman (I can't really go on assuming genders now and it's for one to identify not for me to tell) and I loved how masculine she was and I was always sad that I couldn't get to talk to her because I looked up to her and she had full gray hair. Her girlfriend was lovely.
For once I actually based it roughly in my head on where I live. Ah, mystery, where do I live in Sweden. I like taking the piss XD We had snow in April and I had started writing this story around then.
I did the final binge today with a good part of the second chapter.
I found out that I can't drink alcohol it doesn't go at all with my medicine, so bye alcohol. I just loved a drink of cider like a unit per week, so I'm fucked xD and of course I mop about it today xD
It's odd because I thought of many plots which open up and my lips are sealed.
I need a title. I am listening to Half of Us and I obviously like the line "the heartbreaking sound of my town beats the heartbreaking sound of your town" but that's a long line and a steal, so I wanted a loud kind of word which was a sound and I thought of heartbreak and shattering and cosmos is there because we speak of constallations and it sounds pretty fucking actually xD
If you liked it please tell me as I'm anxious xD
thank you always
<3
Jamie
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