Heading for the kitchen he was already turning over plot points in his mind as he poured himself a bowl of cornflakes and sliced a banana over the top. He went to the front door and retrieved his morning paper and sat down at the kitchen table with his breakfast.
He was munching away and turning the pages when his spoon stopped halfway to his mouth. His eyes had fallen on a page six story that his mind wouldn’t wrap around no matter how hard it tried.
The story contained the details of a grisly murder that had happened the night before. What Desmond couldn’t believe was that the details coincided one hundred percent with the plotline of a story he had written and published not two weeks before.
He went back to spooning cereal and banana into his mouth without registering what he was doing. When he had read the story word for word three times he stopped and looked out the window. A drop of milk ran down the corner of his mouth but Desmond didn’t notice.
A coincidence. It had to be. Didn’t it? He shuddered at the thought that someone might have read his story and then decided to make it happen. That was absurd though. He glanced at the story again and then put his bowl in the sink and went to the bedroom to get dressed.
He sat down at his computer and got to work on his new story idea but the page six story kept creeping into his mind making it hard for him to concentrate. He Googled the story to see if there were any new details but all he found was the story he had read over breakfast.
Pushing it out his mind he went back to work on his new story and managed to get an hour of work done before he had to take a break. He had errands to run; the story would have to wait.
He was in line at the bank when he overheard two women in the next line talking. At first their words barely registered, then he heard some details that got his attention.
“Can you believe it? I saw it on the news this morning. That poor woman. What a horrible way to die? Who would even think about doing something so vile?”
“Oh, I know. I hope they catch the sick bastard soon.”
Desmond shifted uncomfortably. They were talking about the murder. The murder that was an exact copy of his story. Some people just didn’t understand imagination. It’s not like it was ever meant to happen in real life. But it had. That was a fact. Much as he wanted to ignore it he wasn’t going to be able to.
He finished his errands and drove home still turning the matter over in his mind. Was someone else on the same wavelength he was or had they actually been inspired by his story. He wasn’t sure he wanted to know.
He sat down at his computer when he got back and reread the outline of his new story.
Satisfied that he was tracking well he continued his writing, all the while blocking everything else out as best he could.
That night he slept fitfully and woke several times from a disturbing dream that melted away the moment he opened his eyes.
Part 2 Tomorrow