fine lines: part ii.

murder monday: a short story series.

see: fine lines i.

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Beyond the cafe’s arched windows, the raindrops gently bead the glass as I absentmindedly trace circles on the plastic to-go cup of my iced latte. 
My sketchbook lies open on the table, pencils strewn across the page but the page itself untouched.
The aroma of freshly ground coffee beans, accompanied by the whirring coffee machine, wafted through the bustling coffee shop. 
I flinch as a lady on the phone bumps my chair, praying that the brew did not stain my dress. 

White is a hassle to wear, but such burdens are worth it for a pristine colour. 

"Hey! Sorry I'm late!"

I glance up at the sound of a familiar voice and smile as my friend unceremoniously shoves past a crowd of teenagers. Droplets of rain fly from her curls as she plops into the seat across from me. Her eyes light up at the sight of a steaming cup in front of her, making me chuckle. 

“Is that for me?! You know me so well!” she exclaims, lifting the cup to her lips.

I widen my eyes. “No–”

She yelps, wincing as the scalding liquid burns her tongue. “Ow, fuck! Why do I always do this to myself?” 

My friend is sweet, but careless and predictable: a lethal combination.  

“I was going to say, be more careful,” I murmur with a laugh. 

“Meh, won’t kill me.” She shrugs. “Is that a new dress? It’s cute! And of course, you got it in white,” she teases. “It’s even the same shade of alabaster. Do you own anything with colour?” 

“White’s my favourite,” I pout, raising my cup to bite the paper straw. “Besides, it’s simple. Easy to match.” 

She gestures to her colourful outfit. “You’re an artist, for fuck’s sake. You could try my style. I’ve never met someone so pe… what’s the word–pediatric?–about a shade.” 

I drink her in. 
Electric blue ringlets tangled in her fuzzy rainbow earrings. 
Bright cream soda nails adorned with lollipop charms, tugging on the strings of her patchwork hoodie that resembles those kindergarten learning blocks. 
Soulful cedar eyes that search mine for connection. 

I playfully bop her on the nose. “Pedantic. The word is pedantic.” 

She leans back on her chair, eyes now twinkling with laughter at my exaggerated exasperation. “Okay smart-ass, I’ve never met someone as pedantic,” she enunciates, “about a colour as you. Even your nails are pearl chrome, girl. Live a little!” 

I chuckle as I take another sip from my latte. “I already have you to live vicariously through. Anyway, how’s it going?”

I tilt my head in curiosity when I notice my friend's eyes sparkle once again. I lean in closer as her voice drops. "You know that murderer? The Scarlet Gallerist?"

I nod.

“Apparently, he’s here! The authorities found a dead body in the neighbourhood and they think it’s him!” my friend whispers excitedly. “We have a fucking murderer here!”
	
My heart picks up pace. 
A murderer? Oh, my. What are the odds?

“They don’t know what the dude looks like, just that he drives an SUV,” she says, pursing her lips. “I hope someone kills him first.” 

I frown. “You hope that? But that’s a murder in itself,” I muse. 

“But he’s a shitty person.” She picks up my discarded pencil and scribbles the word killer twice, side by side in my sketchbook. “Listen, there’s a thin line between murder and justice, and I personally think he deserves to be dead,” she deadpans, blacking them out with idle strokes. “It cancels out, you feel me?”

As the two of us fall into a comfortable silence, I sip on my iced latte once more, pondering what my friend said. 

A fine line between murder and justice, hm? Is it really that fine?

---

thank you for reading part II of my short story series, fine lines. 
in your opinion: when, if ever, is eye-for-an-eye the answer to your problem?

If something stirred in you, and you'd like to leave something behind, 
a coffee ☕ is always welcome. 
It keeps the conversation warm and the table set for next time.🌿  

As always, thank you for stopping by to read my weekend musing. 
I hope you’ll stay for a cup of coffee. ☕