Once a week I always visit Patea's grave, my one and only friend. Two years ago, when she died, I was emotionally destroyed. When you are like me, it's difficult to have friends, let alone a lower-class one. Yet, she was there for me. My parents are here as well; they died recently, leaving when I'm just twelve. What's worse? Dying or seeing your close one die? I raise my eyes to the moon — it is there every night, always beautiful, consistent. Like death, it consistently happens and it has no purpose, it just is. The question arises naturally: if death is constant and natural, why do people fear it? Why do they cry over the dead ones? Why do I come here every Monday to visit these graves? After closing my eyes for a moment, I leave the roses I bought on the graves and leave.
It's very late — 20:13:34. This is Whitechapel Road. As always, it's very crowded, but I spot something unusual. Is it the police? I move closer to check, passing between all the many people there watching what is going on. Apparently, someone died, and the police already found the culprit. It apparently happened in a butcher shop — it closed around one hour ago. On the ground, there is the corpse. It's a guy. He is 21 — more precisely, 21 years, 8 months, and 12 days old. His neck was cut 12 minutes ago. Apparently, the police were luckily close to the scene when the homicide happened. Oh... He has a ring. He was married. I hope he didn't have children; otherwise, they will suffer. The wallet in his pocket seems intact. He also has the keys to his home. Aside from the police at the crime scene, there are only two girls. One works in the shop — you can tell from the clothes. The police already handcuffed her. She is crying, sobbing. Her eyes are red and her facial muscles are a bit tense. The other girl is older — 22. She is well dressed. Even her makeup is impeccable but not exaggerated. She wasn't trying to look beautiful for someone — she is just well-kept. She is also wearing a white shirt, and the sleeves are rolled up, one more than the other — it's quite noticeable, too. The fourth finger seems slightly irritated. It's red. She has one teary eye, but that's it. We even made eye contact for a moment. Her foot also keeps tapping the ground.
I walk closer to the policeman.
"Sir, do you mind telling me why you are arresting that girl?"
He checks around before looking down at me — he likely didn't expect it to come from a child.
"Uh? Are you interested? Well, it's simple. She had access to knives, which are likely the weapon used to kill that poor man. The corpse's also in her shop, and we have a witness — that other girl who was passing by and saw her holding a knife and the corpse."
"Any motive?"
"She will eventually confess. No clue at the moment, sorry."
"Sir... You got the wrong person."
Before he can answer, I run to the other policeman who was walking with the apparent culprit.
"Stop! You should arrest the other girl. This one is innocent."
Her eyes move down on me, suggesting hope. Her pupils dilate.
"Are you kidding me, right?"
"No, and the police should stop using witnesses as the only proof."
"There's no other proof. Come on now, it's not time to play. We are doing our job."
I ignore him and walk to the other girl.
"Someone should roll down her sleeves. There'll be a bloodstain there."
Her eyes widen after hearing my accusation.
"What?!"
The police seem doubtful as well, but at least they are no longer trying to take the innocent away — at least for now.
"If I'm wrong, then nothing happens. But if I'm right, you can actually arrest the killer."
The two policemen look at each other. One sighs and walks to the girl.
"Please, do as this child is saying."
"What?! No! Why would I?"
"It's an order."
The policeman forcefully rolls her sleeves down, revealing, in fact, blood.
"Oh..."
"But... how?"
"Well... it really wasn't hard. Why would a killer kill someone where they work, while they are the only person there — especially somewhere they have access to weapons? Killers don't want to be caught — but if it was her, it seems like she wanted to be. Secondly, she has no motive. In homicides, motives are generally related to love, revenge, or money. The man's wallet and keys were completely untouched. Theft isn't an option here — which leaves us with love or revenge. But in this case, it's technically both. He died less than 15 minutes ago, but the shop closed around one hour ago. That means he wasn't there as customer, the reason must be another one. Another clue is that he is married — you can see the ring on his finger. Now look at this girl's finger. It's irritated, red. It suggests something was in contact with the skin but has been removed shortly ago — likely something that was there for a long time, like a ring. My guess? The man came here to meet his lover — the girl who works here. Why else would a man enter a butcher store after more than half an hour the shop was closed? But he was found out by his wife, who, I assume, was randomly passing by. Out of anger, she killed the unfaithful man and threw away the ring. I also have to say this, but you are a horrible liar; your clothes but mostly your makeup tells us you pay attention on how you present yourself, and yet, you had the sleeves rolled up asymmetrically, which results in an anomaly. Why would a well-kept beautiful lady leave asymmetry on her image? When you killed him some blood met your clothes and you had to hide it quickly, the police was close, you couldn't worry about appearance. Also, when you are faking to cry, don't look around; someone who is crying wouldn't care about the surroundings, said person is in pain. Still, you met my eyes, searching for my reaction; in that moment you were more worried about others than your husband's corpse."
I can sense the eyes of the killer shaking out of fear, confirming what I just said.
I'm sure after this the police will look for the ring and eventually arrest the actual culprit, so I just leave without paying much attention to the people staring at me.
Motives are important and people can lie. Nothing happens without a reason. It's basic cause and effect. Now someone died because of love — he loved, and died for it. Is love death's cause?
Did my parents also die because of love? What about Patea? Did she love someone so much that she stayed in those flames? If love is what produces death then love is dangerous; if it's not — it's painful, even if the person who dies doesn't love, the people who love him will suffer anyway. Love brings pain and death, and at the same time we only realize we really love when we suffer.
People spend time taking for granted many things. Let's take a worker who comes home after fourteen hours in an industry; he arrives home with a lovely wife cooking for him. This worker, after several years of marriage, will stop appreciating what her wife does for him. On the other hand, his wife will do the same; she'll take all the hours he is away from home working for granted. The first will think the wife doesn't do anything and therefore she must do housework, that's a woman's duty. The second will think he is a man and therefore he must work and bring money; it's a man's duty after all. When was the last time they said thank you to each other? Who knows. But one thing is assured: when one will be missing the other will realize how stupidly they lived for years.
Humans tend to realize things when it's too late, creating if-scenarios in their head as if it would change something. We simply work this way. But at the same time, that's the signal that we are capable of love. One girl was genuinely crying; she realized she loved, either because the man she loved died or because she was scared of being arrested and losing the freedom she took for granted up to few minutes prior. The other one was faking a tear; she wasn't suffering from the loss of her husband, she never loved him in the first place.