A Stolen Heart - Short Story
Story by MuddyMonkey on SoFurry
So this sad little tale originated from a 360-word writing competition that I entered a few months ago. I didn't win it, unfortunately, but my annoyance was quickly dashed when I read the three shortlisted entries; seriously they were brilliantly written, and in the case of one in particular, absolutely inspired. I didn't actually realise that SoFurry had a tag for human characters, and I know it seems odd posting an entirely human story on a furry website, but I am happy enough with this to share it with you all, despite its sombre subject matter.
“Stolen car…suspect in his teens…black, spiked hair…” Police Constable Raymond Gordon had heard it all before; indeed, he could only assume all the planets had aligned when a day passed without a knocked-down elderly lady or a window purposefully obliterated within the Gramford Estate. Pulling his car smoothly to a halt expertly parallel to the kerb, he stepped onto the rutted pavement and casually passed the Silver Skoda in question, crumpled against a brick wall, as if it was a natural element of the streetscape; his narrow, scowling eyes were pin-pointed firmly towards the house where a witness had seen the youngster flee immediately after, yet what struck him as odd was how the front door remained ajar, offering a tunnel-esque view into the ruffled, stained carpet staring glumly back at his creaseless blue uniform. Navigating the crooked door-frame, he calmly rapped twice on the door; the pistol in his belt-mounted pocket rubbed assuredly against his torso as he did so.
“This is the Police; show yourselves!” he snapped brusquely; his well-utilised ears, however, had quickly perked up, as a sound he had resolutely dismissed the possibility of hearing faintly washed against them like a tide. A confused frown etched itself upon his face and, as if on autopilot, he gingerly ascended a rickety set of wooden stairs, before turning sharply to the left as the sound grew incrementally louder. A claustrophobic, damp room, dimly lit by the firmly shut curtains on the adjacent wall, blocked most of the light from the three people within it, but as the Officer entered, a plain-clothed female hunched in a straight-backed chair at the foot of the bed reluctantly lifted her head like a clockwork toy; her ragged, ginger hair cascading down her cheeks with as much vigour as her tears. Slumped over the other end of the bed, the second occupant’s face was obscured by a tuft of black, spiked hair, but as Gordon’s slowly widening eyes arced downwards, they latched themselves like a claw onto the only visible sight of the final occupant; an icy-pale, limp hand that flopped its motionless fingertips towards the faded wooden floorboards.