A Moment of Doubt Creative Writing

A moment of doubt

With a pile of paperwork and documents on the desk, Edward Thompson swiveled his chair round and round helplessly. A dozen snapped and smoked cigarettes had been discarded in the ashtray that seemingly had not been cleaned for years. The bleak and bleached beams of lamp lights stroke the feeble face of this dedicated and respectable sheriff. He was greatly troubled by a recent bizarre murder in this peaceful town in West Virginia. A fifteen-year-old boy, Kyle, was found dead in the woods at the backyard of his house. The only suspect, a neighbor of Kyle, had an alibi at the cinema, not a clue. Hours had passed, puzzled and blank, Sheriff Thompson leaned back in his chair and dozed off.

On the next morning, after having a hasty breakfast with his son, Robert, Mr. Thompson dashed to his office. Robert was sixteen years old, a handsome and sensible boy. Yet he had been remarkably shy ever since his mother’s death in the Korean War. Kyle was his best friend at school, and whose death, to a great extent aggravated his quiet shyness. Now he barely talked with anyone. His father tried several times to console him, but it always begot an awkward silence eventually. Mr. Thompson thought it was weird but also normal, and he believed that Robert would recover and move on soon.

After a fruitless investigation at the police station for the whole day, Mr. Thompson came back to discover his son locking himself in his room. “Not surprised”, was all his comment. Exhausted from an entire day’s work, he decided to take a short nap at the couch before proceeding this burdensome investigation. But this precious, dream-like coziness was after a while interrupted by a series of slow and hesitating footsteps, followed by some ragged and strained breathing. Disturbed and still indulged in his nap, he opened his eyes to find an agitated face of his son with tears in his eyes.

“I killed him,” Robert murmured in an almost inaudible and trembling voice, “I killed Kyle.”

Dismayed and doubting with incredulity, Mr. Thompson peered at Robert’s face still with his mouth unconsciously opened.

“He is just too good,” after a short pause Robert continued, “he’s better than me at anything, he is so excellent, so perfect, and he has a mom. He pissed me off for no reason…… Maybe because he is just better than me, and I was jealous, so I killed him…… My best friend.”

Tears streamed down from Robert’s deformed and appalling face, his body shivered with spasm, which he was endeavoring hard to conceal. He covered his face with his hands and burst out into a screaking cry of conscience and humiliation, like a rabbit he fled to his room.

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