Death by Chopsticks

Here's another bit of creative writing for you! I'm not sure if you've all read it or not, but I thought I'd post it anyway. Mostly because I have resolved to resume my regular updating schedule, and I don't actually have anything else to say at the moment.

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8 p.m. 5 April 2003

Hm..... David thought, looking down at the body sprawled on the cushions. Apparently he died with chopsticks up his nose. That’s odd. From the flux of blood on the front of his shirt, it looked like they were the principle cause of death. Must be mighty sharp if they pierced the skull and caused a hemorrhage. Have to wait for the autopsy to find out for sure. This might well be the most macabre death he’d ever seen, and he’d seen plenty in his time. Policing was not an aesthetically pleasing job, however great the benefits.

He looked around him, trying to see past the police tape, the blood, and the panicked squalling of patrons being questioned. If I could only see what happened.... He searched his brain, then suddenly brought himself up short. Dunce! It’s not like you can see into the past. David shook himself angrily and went back to work. Fingerprinting. Keep your mind on the job....

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4 p.m. 5 April 2003

The food at Orito Sai’s wasn’t the best, but it was a small town, and the populace had a taste for Japanese food and for following the big-city fads. The inhabitants of Perrysburg felt sophisticated when they ate at Orito Sai’s, with its ornamental chopsticks and the muted opulence of the decor. At the moment Japanese food was sophistocated, and Orito Sai’s prospered.

Yes, Japanese cuisine is very elegant, Margaret reflected with satisfaction, waiting calmly for her sushi. And it gives one such a sense of calm to sit at low tables on cushions. She was comfortably hungry - that is, ravenous, and comfortable in the fact that food would soon arrive. Sushi. It had almost a heavenly ring. She never ordered anything else from Orito Sai’s.

Margaret was at a table near the middle of the restaurant, her back to the door. She didn’t see the staggering entrance of the stranger, but she whirled around at the first scream, promptly fainting at the sight of the blood-covered intruder. She missed both his gurgling death and the quick departure of a figure outside - short and pudgy, dark coat and hat, even though it was sixty outside. It was later discovered that the deceased’s name was Colin Attwood - Margaret’s own cousin.

That evening the papers read:

Local Man Murdered With Chopsticks
Short Pudgy Man with Dark Coat and Hat Witnessed at Scene of Crime
Police Baffled

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3:55 p.m. 5 April 2003

The House of Seven Gables, across the street from Orito Sai’s, was inhabited by Colin Attwood. He made his living, these days, by giving chopstick lessons. The more affluent citizens of Perrysburg came to him for exclusive lessons, to learn to eat the way Japanese nobility did. He’d been doing a booming business ever since Japanese food became The Thing. He reflected with satisfaction on his bank account. Soon I’ll have enough to set up a diner. I’ve always wanted to set up a diner. Allan, his current student caught his eye and he sighed. If I can only get through six more weeks of this.

Allan always made Colin nervous. He was Colin’s best paying student, and as such, Colin couldn’t stop teaching him. Neither could he claim to be full up. He had a perfectly comfortable number of students and a good amount of free time.

Not that Allan was physically intimidating - short, pudgy, mousy hair and limpid eyes. In fact, he looked like the epitome of a sidekick of doubtable intelligence. He was eccentric, certainly, always wearing a dark coat and hat, but he paid well, and eccentricity is perfectly permissible in the rich.

Colin watched as Allan ate. He wasn’t sure which made him most nervous: the way Allan preferred to use his unadorned chopsticks as spears or the apparent disregard for human life with which he wielded them. Someday, he thought, he’s going to poke his eye out with those....