I started the Death and the Detective series from the writing prompts challenges at Creative Copy Challenge. The words in bold are the writing prompts from the challenge.
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Challenge #14
Sitting on his deck with feet propped on the railing, Brett took another sip of his lite beer, wishing it was Simpatico instead. The velvet warmth of the summer night drifted with the fragrant scent of flowers he couldn’t name. He was weary deep into his soul. Twenty-five years as a homicide detective took its toll. He felt no joy in solving the Birdcage Bandit case. Too many had died before a judge sentenced the serial killer to life. He got life – more than you could say for his victims.
Shutting his eyes, Brett struggled to banish the visions from his mind – the cupid-shaped lips of the last victim frozen in a soundless scream.
Maybe because he was a cop, he felt the trespass of the shadow he did not see. Opening his eyes, he looked into the luminescent mirror of his soul. Had he found his doppelganger or had he finally lost his mind? Had some moment in time caused the butterfly effect that brought him here? And what did it all mean?
Challenge #15
They were the eyes of a stranger, yet one he knew all his life. In the background was the rhythmic sound of Mumbo Gumbo. That was strange. He never knew the band to travel from their northern California gigs. What were they doing in San Diego’s north county city of Encinitas?
Vanishing like a street vendor’s contraband CD, the soulful sounds faded as if they were never there. Rising into view was a meadow of softly, swaying wheat. Kissed with the shimmer of sunlight, and bowing in silent reverence, it formed a radiant tunnel of invitation.
Brett blinked in disbelief – the eyes of the stranger. The sweet, half smile did little to cover the nude loveliness, as she stretched her hand to his. Afraid to breathe, Brett whispered, “Who are you?”
“Let it go, Brett. Let it fall on me,” slowly she rose, and rose.
Bursting from the wheat of ocean blue, the dolphin danced on the crest of waves, to the sound of a wailing sax.
Sitting up in bed with the sheets twisted around his heated body, Brett shook off the absurdity of dreams. Maybe this was a message that he was just one more sidestep removed from death. If heaven looked like this, what was he waiting for?
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