The Perfect Murder-Part 3


The boy walked down the stairs, wearing his usual cargo and white t-shirt. He also donned a fedora.
“How does it look mother?” he spoke, elongating the does.
“No”, she replied bluntly. “You can’t carry the look of the fedora with such a wardrobe. Leave it on the hanger beside the door and head to school.”
The boy let out a little sigh, knowing that his mother was right. He picked up his bag, opened the door and stepped outside.
In a flash, his head was lowered, his strides became shorter and no more did confidence radiate from him. He observed everyone on his way. The nice girl whom he met this morning, waving at him, her bulky male friend, a boy with large headphones, the frat boy on his bike, an old man walking his black labrodor, the blonde who worked at the local Archies, the ice cream man and pretty much the rest of the neighbourhood.
All such good targets, except the girl, he thought.
Soon he reached the huge white coloured Four story building where he would spend a fourth of his day, struggling to stay awake, except for that beautiful hour in psychology. He let out another sigh and went through the door with countless others, who would, like him, want to be anywhere but here.


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