This one is inspired by a writing prompt from the Daily Post that I was really excited about: “Write a new piece using Nighthawks by Edward Hopper as your inspiration.” Edward Hopper is by far my favourite painter of all time. Hope you guys enjoy it! I should probably also remind you guys that today marks the start of National Novel Writing Month, so for those of you who have always wanted to write one – NO MORE EXCUSES! Check out the website and register to join. Happy writing!
There she sat. As if she didn’t know who he was or what he had done. I would have said she was a natural had I not noticed that her coffee lay untouched. The clattering of porcelain is always a dead giveaway. At least she knew that much.
Her chest rose slightly as his hand brushed hers to hand her the mug, but she she disguised it with a polite smile. Outside a couple of drunk hooligans decided it was about time they join a choir and began to practice as they attempted to avoid the shifting ground on their way to the next bar. Alisa glanced at them as they walked past the shop’s vast windows.
“I’m glad they’re having a nice night.” She tilted her gaze towards me and I half-smiled in response. She shifted her weight and sat up straight once more once the street emptied out “I think I need a cigarette.”
I signaled to Bruce with a nod. “Do you sell cigarettes?”
He walked over. “Of course we do, sir what kind were you after?” He asked as he bent down towards the cigarette case to show me what he had available. I reached in my pocket for my wallet.
“I’m going to freshen up, I’ll be right back.” Almost perfectly synchronized with our movements Alisa stood up from her seat and walked around towards the bathrooms, reaching her hands into her purse as she did so. We all drew almost simultaneously but Alisa fumbled for a moment with her cuffs so I spoke.
“Aaron Toews, you’re under arrest for the murder of Devon Crawford.” I read him his Miranda rights and he didn’t move. Just started straight at me. She was small but she was definitely strong; Alisa gripped his wrist as she cuffed it and pulled it behind his back. He continued to stare. Straight at me without flinching. Alisa shoved his other hand behind him and locked both cuffs together, giving release to all her anger and disgust. Then he smiled and I knew he had recognized her. He had known who we were and he had stayed there, reading his newspaper quietly. He had wanted to be caught and I had a distinct feeling he wanted to be caught by her…