Cookie: A Narrative Fiction

Going on top of the roof, the view of the entirety of the advanced city laid below. He was born here, and by now knew every crook and cranny. He knew who to pay his respects, and who he can take advantaged of. Old man Joe though went between, respected but taken advantaged as he is a good-hearted man.

He went home, a three-roomed condo, right between the rich and the poor. In Valley city, it was split apart. On one half laid mansions, which billionaires owned residence. On the other half were poor folks who couldn’t even afford some food to fill their tummy. His condo, and its sisters were called the middle finger, often its misinterpreted by tourists.

His flat condo was filled with ornaments, they reflected the city:

The man shook his hand, asked him how the John murder case was going. “No clues still.” He already found some people that could give him leads, but he kept that out.

The detective told him to come to the office. “Sure, I will be there tomorrow.” Leaving out the time would give him some flexibility. And its always feels great to not have a set schedule, so it could be solved like a puzzle, into a perfect picture.

He greeted the man out and decided to go to one his leads. “Maybe this time it will all be over.” The case was on his hands for already three weeks, and he was hungry to see something new, instead of being awakened to do the exact actions and have the same thoughts as the previous days, and

He drove his Mercedes towards the location. He knew soon or later this case would be forgotten, much like the previous one. If he solved if though, there would be no one that thanked him for solving a case, he remembered how the previous case, he was rewarded by woman’s cry at finding out that it was her best friend who murdered her boyfriend. The only cry he wanted to hear was a relief, instead, he heard a tortured laugh, it wasn’t good for his heart.

All those doctors, especially those glorious surgeons who get flowers and many thanks. They are favored by the winds. Those doctors would mostly be remembered in good light. Additionally, if a surgeon couldn’t save a person, they would have all their previous thanks to holding onto from becoming insane. The victims they had, and he had been a world difference. Their victims were from the top food chain, mostly of them satisfied. His victims, however, were from the bottom food chain, never smiling, never had cried of relief.

He passed the bar. Soon he sees the address of his lead, she better has something, be it anything but silence. He went through this procedure, drive to a victim, and leave