Kitty

It was noon, the sun was a sweltering around the area, people were wiping sweat off their brows, the gravel itself seemed to be shimmering with tears, it was hot enough that mirages would form, that people would faint of dehydration. Around the lake, however, with the simple, yet tastefully built, lavishly furnished houses, it was cool and calm. The weather was different for the super rich. Discrimination is a part of our world. It can never be eliminated, like roaches or rats. Nature too, selects those it deems the strongest. The sun was cool and calm at the lake, the surface of the watery mirror still. Not a ripple across the wide expense. In a few hours men would come in polos and shorts, congregate around the generously scattered fishing sheds, the women would collect at the houses of their neighbors, sundresses, the latest hats in fashion, sunglasses, and gossip and picnic. For now, they were having afternoon snoozes. The super rich were super sleepy. The lakefront was silent.

A shrill scream pierced the sky. The lake echoed with ripples, birds cawed as they took flight from their perches on the majestic trees. Again. The shrill scream echoed loudly, pitifully, followed by a hack. All across the lake, it could be heard.

Around the lake, footsteps, the landscape so that they too, echoed all across. Two pairs, one light and one heavy.

A pair of breaths, one reeking of fear, the other grunting with anger and quiet purpose.

Scream.

A girl was running. Her hair was brown, glowing auburn by the fire of the sun, it danced behind her in waves, tantalizing. She had pale skin, and eyes stretched back in fear. A man behind her, he was dressed like a lumberjack, an axe swinging from one hefty hand, as he took pursuit.

Scream.

Curtains drew back. Eyes followed, bated breath.

Scream.

It had been ten minutes, thirteen seconds since the first scream shattered the construction of calm at the water. It had been nine minutes, forty four seconds since the first curtains were drawn open. All of thirty eight houses had at least a pair of curtains drawn wide open, forty nine pairs of eyes were watching.

Scream.

An angry grunt as the man in the checkered red and white shirt swung his axe wide and it whizzed through the air.

Scream. Another heavy thud as the axe chopped through air. It cut off a few slivers of her now gleaming golden hair, and Gene screamed as she sensed her impending demise. The scream was futile. Everyone was now watching. It had been twenty nine minutes three seconds since her first scream. In fifty eight seconds, the axe would finally find its mark, and paint its maw red with the blood of its victim. The man would drop it and run away. He would be apprehended six days later.

The afternoon that the lake rippled with screams, found crimson in its clear waters, lights would flash silently, in memory of the victim, blue and red, as police officers took notes from the clearly distraught victims. The women with their mother of jewel necklaces, sobbing hysterically, the men stoically brave. The summer spot for the uber wealthy known as Kitty Lake, no one knew why, would appear for the first time in the news for something tragic.