Tribulation

The rain spiralled into a hypnotic dance, darkness overriding, with a lingering aura of dread. Misery spread like plague, the lifeless expression on Malcom's face would make anybody turn in fear. His pale complexion and droopy eyes from 82 restless hours would make anyone question if he was a zombie or not. Yet his eyes were so alluring and mysterious. A brown so dark, they almost seemed black.

Malcom thudded into his chair with a huge sigh, picking up his tumbler of whiskey, the reflection of the glass lightened his eyes. He swirled his whiskey into a tornado, that he'd hope would destroy his entire past. Because the only thing more destructive than a tornado, was his own mind.

He looked over to a photograph he still had of his mother, threw the whiskey to the back of his throat, and stared blankly. But his mind was shooting vigorous thoughts.

He knew how to hide his thoughts and fears. People saw him as hollow. A robot. But, he, himself, knew he cared too much.

Malcom sunk into a deep pit of sorrow and drowsiness. His body numb and limp, as the edge of his lips curled. His mind sighed in relief. He no longer had to feel and could get a moments peace from his mind. His eyes could no longer stay open.

"Any last words?" She murmured, hoping Malcom wouldn't say a word. The icy touch of the gun, pressed against his head, sent Malcom's eyes to widen. But he knew she was scared. She didn't want to do this, but her mind said she had to.

He couldn't see her face. Down on his knees, all he could see were her bright red, pointed stilettos, the type you'd wear to a high class dinner. They were slightly scuffed. She portrayed her self so highly. Nobody must have noticed the small signs that her life wasn't all she had made it out to be.

Malcom jerked and inhaled sharply from his nightmare once again. He reached under his chair to his little black notebook, he added another mark to his tally. Seven times now. A recurring dream that haunted both his conscious and unconscious mind.

"Why is this happening to me?" Malcom questioned to the world. His hands slapped onto his face, as he moved them upwards, pressing down on his skin, accentuating the lines around his eyes and forehead.

Malcom wasn't the type to be superstitious, but he felt like an alarm was going off in his head. His head felt rattled, but he shook it off. His early years of being a detective made his mind work overtime in many different ways, compared to everyone else. He got too held up in trying to find out more about his mothers death that he broke the law and went against everything he originally believed in. He got close to drug cartels, murderers, but even closer to death. Even his soul got beaten black and blue, and the cast around his soul could not heal the damage from his past. However, no matter what, his ex partner Grady always understood his train of thought. He may not have agreed, but he understood the grievance he was going through. They still stay in contact. Every month they meet at a diner 11 miles out of town. They always believed they did their best thinking there.

Malcom checked his watch, looked up, checked his watch again. 4:47pm. He still had an hour before he met Leary, so naturally he switched on the TV. His hygiene habits were becoming slightly more slack than usual.

BREAKING NEWS

A woman has been found dead in her vechile, in a ditch just off of "Crook's Corner" Medics believe she died immediately from impact.

Witnesses report that the woman swerved. The reason for this is still unknown..

Police are investigating further, but not treating it as suspicious.

Malcom's mouth was agape as he saw the image of the woman, now deceased, on the screen, who strongly resembled his mother.