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shanking colin – 2013, bored at work

I had stabbed Colin, and he wasn’t letting me hear the end of it.
“Why do you even own a dagger?” He asked, arms raised incredulously from his slumped position on the floor. He nodded, gesturing at the ornate hilt protruding from his ribs.
“Did you inherit this or something?” He asked, studying it a little closer. “Looks like real silver. I don’t know how you’d afford this on that glorified barista’s wage.”
“I’m a fucking intern you disingenuous prick!” I snapped at him.
“Really?” Colin asked sarcastically, leaning back against the wall. “You could have fooled me; seems like all you do is make coffee for fucking yuppies. But we’re getting off topic – you fucking stabbed me, you cunt!”
“You still fixating on that?” I asked with a forced air of disinterest, but Colin had me there: I had stabbed him. The motive escaped me for an embarrassing second, and then continued to elude me for some time after that. The red mist was still clearing and I was trying to piece together the events that had lead up to my operatic outburst. It was a bit cringe, really. I mean, Colin had a point: who owns a dagger? Was I really so flamboyant as to drive a blade into my flatmate’s chest?
“Look, I’m just saying, it raises questions about what kind of person you are to live with,” Colin went on. He seemed to be running out of steam. So often that’s the way, let someone have their little rant and they peter out eventually. Or maybe it was the bloodloss.

I turned to the laptop on the kitchen counter and things started falling back into place. Yes. It was the email. That had been what caused me to come over all Medici. I leaned forward and scanned it again, ignoring the rustling sound behind me. Going over it again, I started to think to myself that I hadn’t actually overreacted that badly, all things considered. Colin had been an innocent party in all this, he’d just been the nearest stabable object.
“So, like, is it definitely happening then?” He asked from behind me.
“Certainly seems that way,” I murmured, trying to think of what the hell I could do to stop this. My chain of thought was paused by a sparking sound and a sudden waft of pungent smoke. I turned, eyes hooded, to see Colin toking on a surprisingly well-rolled spliff. Seeing me, he raised his eyebrows challengingly.
“I’m sorry, is my coping mechanism bothering you?”
“No, no,” I said hastily. “Just like, open a window, yeah?”
He looked about himself, slumped on the floor, and absently responded “Maybe in a minute or two.”
Looking back at my inbox, I began to try and figure out the next step here. They were fucking me, that was beyond doubt. The question was whether or not I could force them to give me a reach around.
“So what you gonna do, then?” Colin asked, sounding calmer than before.
“I’ve got an idea, but I think I’m going to need outside help,” I answered. “You up to a trip to Murphey’s?”
“Erm…” I heard Colin mutter. I turned, and followed his gaze up as a thin plume of bluish smoke trailed out around the edges of the dagger buried firmly in his lung.
“Think I might have my hands full for a bit here, mate.” He said nervously, raising the joint to his lips for another cautious toke.

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