The following text was written when a friend of mine left his facebook account left open. I felt I had no other choice but to write this as his status.  Enjoy!

“There was once a time when everyone used to call me Katherine. They were darker times, and I usually don’t speak of them, but I will just this once.

It was a long time ago, so I don’t entirely remember it all, but I’ll try my best.

It all started when I met this man by the name of Steve Shackleford. He wasn’t the tallest man I’ve met, but he wasn’t the shortest either. I met him on a Sunday morning during my long walk on the beach at North Point. He approached me in the most suspicious manner. He muttered words from a distance, but I could not make them out. Once he got close enough for me to hear what he was saying, all I heard were the words, “The red face is never unseen.”

I did not know what to make of this. He was dressed in a brown leather cloak with the stitches undone. He had a light beard just shy of five o’ clock. His eyes screamed of shock. He approached me even closer. Close enough to the point where I was able to see his pores glistening in the sun. There was a loud sound in the distance and we both turned our heads to the West. I turned my head back and the man was gone. My eyes dazed across the scenery of the coast but I could find no man in leather.

Later that night, I had the greatest realization. “Red face” is a reference to the “red handed.” The man was talking of a murder! But why would he approach someone random as opposed to the authorities? Why would he approach me? Could it be? Could the man have committed the murder himself?

Long story short, some lady mistook me for her lesbian friend who used to work at K-Mart a few years back.”


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