Deborah saw her go.
An innocent person lived very close by, till, about, little less than an hour now; god save her soul. It wasn't a suicide, nor was it an accident; it was cold-blooded murder.
The criminal is well-known but his attrocities are matters best put under the carpet. On an occasional day, a festival, a family celebration, a wedding, civilians would suggest methods of taking this man to task, but the minute he would arrive in his garish grandiosity, throw his weight around and spark conversation, with his sparsely polished mannerisms, civilians would be silenced, or civilians would put on hats reserved for the sycophancy of superior gentlemen. It is as if the criminal we are picturing signed a contract with dear god - "Thou shalt not punish Thy child, [name]".
The site of crime that I broached, at first, is Deborah's very fertile imagination. She sees it now. An innocent person - god save her soul - lies dead, close by, very close by. The loss of a friend since childhood - the keeper of her Freudian unconscious and the companion of her mental stratosphere -disabled Deborah's biological ability to keep her tears from wetting the soft linen she was wearing.
Corporations, those that people like Deborah muse about, are full of perfect criminals, god damn them. It is not by nepotism or accident that such criminals are hired; it is fate.
Deborah saw her go.
An innocent person lived very close by, till, about, little less than an hour now; god save her soul. It wasn't a suicide, nor was it an accident; it was cold-blooded murder.
The criminal is well-known but his attrocities are matters best put under the carpet. On an occasional day, a festival, a family celebration, a wedding, civilians would suggest methods of taking this man to task, but the minute he would arrive in his garish grandiosity, throw his weight around and spark conversation, with his sparsely polished mannerisms, civilians would be silenced, or civilians would put on hats reserved for the sycophancy of superior gentlemen. It is as if the criminal we are picturing signed a contract with dear god - "Thou shalt not punish Thy child, [name]".
The site of crime that I broached, at first, is Deborah's very fertile imagination. She sees it now. An innocent person - god save her soul - lies dead, close by, very close by. The loss of a friend since childhood - the keeper of her Freudian unconscious and the companion of her mental stratosphere -disabled Deborah's biological ability to keep her tears from wetting the soft linen she was wearing.
Corporations, those that people like Deborah muse about, are full of perfect criminals, god damn them. It is not by nepotism or accident that such criminals are hired; it is fate.
Deborah saw her go.
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