Untitled Short Story about a guy killing someone and running away.
By Ollie

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He'd had enough. He glared at her as they stood near to one another in stony silence. Her arms were folded, staring into the air, muttering to herself. He glanced around him and saw a knife laying on the side. Without thinking he grabbed it and lunged across the room at her and drove the knife into her stomach. As she slowly looked down she was silent for a moment until the reality of what just happened sunk in, she then let out a agonising scream. Screaming for her to shut up he panicked and pulled out the knife and started plunging it into her again and again.

Minutes later he was kneeling on the floor surrounded by a pool of blood, the body beside him. He was mortified, he had no idea what to do. Perhaps he should call the police and turn himself in, he thought to himself. But no, if there was the slightest chance he could get away with this... He ran outside and pulled open the shed door, and started throwing things to the side. All kinds of tools and gardening equipment, all seemed so pointless now. He finally saw a shovel at the back, resting at the side. He took it, brushing all the other things to one side. Running down to the bottom of the garden, he looked for a suitable place to start digging. Tears streaming down his face, he dug the shovel into the ground.

For an hour he had been digging, he was panting and his clothes were soaked with sweat. And he had produced just a shallow grave, perhaps just one foot deep. If he was in a better frame of mind he could have done better, he thought. He ran back inside, pinching his nose, the body was beginning to smell. He dragged her by the feet down the path to beside the grave, and rolled the body in with his foot, turning up his nose as he did. Then he went back to the shed and found a can of petrol. Running back to the body in the grave, he poured the petrol all over and around the body, trying to spread it all evenly. Once the can was empty he tossed it to one side and pulled a box of matches out of his pocket. He sighed, trying to catch his breath. Slowly he pulled a match from the box, and struck it. He held it over the body and dropped it into the grave.

It immediately burst into flames. He staggered backwards, tripped and fell onto the ground. Disgusting fumes filled the air as the flesh burned. He just sat, sobbing for a moment until he realised someone was going to notice the smoke. He jumped up, and ran back inside. Grabbing the knife, now the murder weapon, and stuffing it into his pocket he kicked open the door and went outside towards his car. He could hear sirens in the distance, someone must have noticed the screaming or the smoke and called the police. Groaning he climbed into the driver's seat, turned on the engine, put it in gear and put his foot down. Skidding around the corner, he gasped as he almost ran into a police car. He screeched to a halt and his eyes widened in horror as he looked at the driver. Realising he had blood on his face and was driving away from the scene of the crime he drove around the police car and sped off in the opposite direction. He heard the sirens close behind him.