Southwest 17: The Mystery of the Red Rock Woman

But Sedona wasn't dead. Her suicide, or I should say her attempted suicide, was like a western storefront or some brand new suburban McMansion. All facade. “Blanks!” I yawped when I saw the lack of blood, the chest still breathing. She opened a single eye and winked, “Just because I've lost my innocence doesn't mean I've lost my sense of play.” I quickly gathered my wits. No way I was going to let her get the upper hand, no matter how shocked I might have been. “I don't believe in innocence anyways,” I mumbled in my best nonchalant manner. “Not sure why not,” she answered. “It's all around you.” “No kids around here,” I said. “Children aren't innocent, Mr. Chiller. Only the moment is.” So she wanted a philosophical duel I thought to myself. I can zen. Aloud I said, “Tell that to the past.” She frowned, “Ah, but isn't that the culprit?” “What is? Living in the past?” I asked. “Not exactly,” she answered. Suddenly I remembered I was investigating a murder, sent here by the Metaphysical Police to do a job. And here before my very ears was a witness discussing one, and all I could do was counter her by being one with aloofness. That wouldn't do. So I questioned her directly. She hesitated. Clouds rolled in from the west. A shadow crossed the red rock. Sedona glowed. “Living for the future,” she answered.

~Chandler Chiller 2006