Wednesday, August 5, 2020
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Half Bloom

Today seems to be a day of inescapable wetness. The downpour lashes the air furiously. The smell of fresh coffee, turning cold, fuels my stamina as I fill in the paperwork for the case that would be closed by tomorrow.


CASE FILE: Damian Fox

Overview of case:

On September 21st 2016, 28 year old Damian Fox, Homicidal Detective, was found strangled to death in his apartment. A solitary crimson rose, in half bloom had been placed vertically upon his chest; his body naked. The case resembled Keirra Shepard’s, a 29 year old, whose naked body was found on April 13th 2016, with a rose between her breasts.

Crime Scene:



Forensic reports showed no sign of forced entry, no hand/foot prints nor partial prints. There was however, a journal with an entry for 14th April 2016, tying the victim to Ms. Shepard’s murder:

Your eyes though, seek every one’s but mine.
In this vast expanse of the universe,
How come my heart was tied to none but thine?
I came to claim then, what rightfully belongs to me.
Beside me, you belonged, Oh Clementine.
I drank of your wine, I tasted your flesh,
How sweet a combo, your body a shrine!
Why though, darling,
Why choose to let go, your life line?
Oh heavens be cursed! What great a tragedy!
Our love in half bloom,
until we meet next time..


The case was closed for lack of evidence|


The cursor blinks at my unfinished sentence, prompting me to continue. I hadn’t had a good night’s sleep since Damian’s death. He had been my partner for the last two years.

Exhausted beyond words now, I stifle a yawn.

Glancing up to ensure the door is shut, I take out my journal and flick the pages until I reach an incomplete entry.

August 17th 2016

I have beseeched the rising sun
For a ray of its darkest hue,
And the mourning earth has promised me
The best of its kind too.
A few more weeks to go, beloved,
Just a fortnight or two:
Until I have the perfect half bloom
The earth has promised to give for you,

With mounting adrenaline, I hasten to complete the poem, but the door bursts open. The rooky barges in.

“Sir, the case, as you suspected, has been declared close for lack of evidence.”

I heave a sigh. Shaking my head, I say, “I’ll get on with the paperwork.”

He leaves without a word.

The raindrops trickle down the fogged pane, leaving a trail of clarity in their wake.

Damian’s hearty chuckle when he had seen a poem I wrote for him once, echoes in my mind.

“Your poetry is going to be the death of me, Will,” he had laughingly complimented me.

I am sure he didn’t mean it quite literally then.

I take a sip of my coffee that’s become cold now, and complete my poem.

“A rose in half bloom, for your betrayal:
Crimson core through.”



Husna Thaslim
Husna is an ardent lover of literature, lost somewhere in the medieval era, swooning after people who have subtle resemblances to Mr. Darcy. She can be found either with her nose in a book or napping, in between adding another task to her ever-growing To-Do list. A wannabe poet, she aspires to be a published poet someday.
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