Wake Up And Smell The Petunia's

• Taylor Toovey, Grade 10
• Short Story
• 2011

Her skin ever so lightly fragranced, her hair loosely falling in curls below her waist and as she applied a fresh coat of striking pink lip gloss she giggled to herself and said, “Surely this could not be the face of a killer!”
A policemen was due to arrive in under an hour to question Paris on the subject of her missing friend Ella Pent who was now resting peacefully covered in soil and topped with newly planted Petunia’s. However, Paris was unsure anybody would even bother venturing out into what is apparently the worst torrential rain in a Century and thunder so loud it surely would eventually burst your eardrums, as well as the constant, repetitive sparks of lightning tormenting the wide, dark skies.
“Ding, Dong”, the doorbell sang, adrenalin rushing through Paris’ body.
“Come in, make yourself comfortable Constable”, she hollered from the kitchen and quite rehearsed, brought tea and biscuits over to the ball-shaped, blue-uniformed man. He surprisingly declined the food and drink with a twitch at the corner of his mouth and spoke in a serious voice that had been practised for many years in his line of duty.
“Miss Vera, may I have your whereabouts on the 22nd of September between the hours of 9am to 1pm.”
“I was committing my daily routine – I mean, I went to get some milk after I woke at 10:30, and when I came home, it was around 12:30 so I invited my mother over for lunch.” Surely she had blown it. ‘Committed?’ What had happened to calm and solemn? It was alright though, Paris reassured herself. She would make up for it later.
“What has happened? Surely Officer, you have not paid me a visit on this stormy Sunday morning to query me about my daily routine”, and with an awkward stomach rumble from the ball-like, frumpy policeman he began.
“How friendly were you with Ella Pent?”
“She was my best friend throughout Primary and Secondary School. We were like sisters, inseparable.” Cliché, but bound to work Paris thought to herself.
“Miss Pent has been reported missing for over a week now and we have no leads. Her family and partner all claim that she was a happy, athletic 24 year old that loves life, well, loved.”
Paris had chosen her moment carefully and broke out into hysterical cries of despair.
“The monster, the damn devil.” Paris screeched distraughtly and as the weeping appeared to be getting louder, the Officer started becoming more impatient with her.
“Thankyou for your time Miss Vera; a ceremony in honour of Miss Pent’s short life will be held tomorrow at 4pm, Broadbeach and I can assure you the villain will be caught, and if not, let us pray, struck by lightning in this weather!” With an impatient chuckle, the frumpy policeman opened the front door ready to leave the premises when......... a cry of utter horror escaped from the pit of the Constable’s bulging stomach. A limp, lifeless, mouldy arm, leg and half-devoured skull had been revealed under what once had been a flower bed scattered with bright and cheerful Petunia’s.
The heavy downpour had washed away most of the soil that had been covering the perfect crime and the two of them stared down at this in disbelief, for different reasons.
“Paris Vera, you’re under arrest.” The frumpy Constable secured a pair of steel handcuffs around Paris’ tiny wrists and with her skin ever so lightly fragranced, her hair loosely falling in curls below her waist, she was to apply her striking pink lip gloss and giggle to herself in a mental asylum for the rest of her delightful, petunia-filled life.