Joaquim Mohsen

Birds chirped as dawn approached the town. Street lamps overhead cast a soft glow, creeping through the morning fog that shrouded the cobblestone streets. The windows of the red brick buildings encircling the town square were dark, their residents still deep in slumber, all except the bakery, where the scent of freshly baked bread wafted into the square. Flowers, meticulously arranged around the square, were beginning to bloom, heralding spring’s arrival. Nothing out of place…except for her.

Sprawled out in the middle of the town square, her body lay lifeless. For hours, she lay undisturbed, the fog cloaking her in a ghostly veil, until an older married couple, out for their morning stroll, discovered her corpse.
“Oh, poor dear! She must have passed out; looks like she’s had one too many drinks!” exclaimed the wife. The husband nodded in agreement. Recalling the priest’s lesson on being a Good Samaritan, they resolved to assist the unfortunate soul.

They first tried shaking her awake, but to no avail. “Well, how rude! Can’t she see we’re trying to help?” said the wife, her voice laced with irritation.
“Hmm, indeed, not very courteous,” responded the husband, echoing her sentiment.

Oh well, we did our part, Charles. Let the police handle it,” said the wife with a dismissive wave. And with that, they turned away from the body, resuming their morning stroll, content in their brief attempt at being Samaritans. The wife mentally noted to commend their effort to the priest at Sunday mass.

Half an hour later, the fog started to lift from the town, the street lamps dimming as the sun’s first light crept over the horizon. A jovial bricklayer, whistling to himself on his way to work, stumbled upon the body. He prodded the unfamiliar woman, but she lay silent and still. He glanced around, checking for any potential witnesses, but the morning air held only the silence of the town. With a grunt, he hoisted the limp figure and moved her to a nearby alley.

A few minutes later, he brought her back to her recumbent position on the main street. “Did you really think I’d leave you in that nasty alley? That’s no place for a pretty girl like you,” he said, smiling as he patted her cheek. Glancing down, he smoothed her skirt, stood up, zipped his fly, and resumed his journey to work, whistling with a newfound pep in his step.
As the sun climbed higher, more townsfolk passed by her body. Unlike the earlier encounters, these passersby treated her as if she were merely discarded litter. Smiling faces filled the town square, exchanging greetings, yet each person averted their eyes from the grim sight. However, the body’s presence soon became an unavoidable nuisance; it obstructed the flow of local business and forced pedestrians into unwanted detours. Finally, someone called the police, much to their chagrin.

The first phone call went unanswered. So did the second. And the third. It wasn’t until the thirteenth call that someone finally picked up. The police were notoriously reluctant to handle such cases, preoccupied with what they considered more pressing matters like speeding tickets, parking violations, and budget-related issues. However, when local businesses started to complain that their customers were put off by the sight of what they referred to as a “passed out whore,” the police were compelled to respond.

When they finally arrived, they could not overlook the signs of violence: the missing hair, the ligature marks around her neck, and the pools of blood mixed with other fluids around her legs. One officer casually remarked that some women just really liked to get kinky and sometimes it can go downhill. But even with that in mind, the stab wounds in her abdomen made it hard to say that this was just the result of foreplay gone too far.

Officially now a murder investigation, it required a more thorough approach. But the newly established crime scene only further agitated business owners. The cops were supposed to swiftly remove the body, not create an even bigger nuisance. As if rehearsed, one after the other complained, “Just get this over with! It’s hurting business!” The owner of a bakery, a portly man, was the chief harasser. “This is my busiest time!” He screamed at them. Attempting to be more diplomatic, he promised fresh donuts for them to get this over with quicker. More than willing to oblige, especially after his bribe, they dragged the body into a nearby alley (unbeknown to them, the bricklayer took the body to the very same alley earlier that day.) They reasoned they could deal with it later. The businesses applauded them, and the baker, now more amicable, ushered them into his bakery. They enjoyed their free deep fried pastries (after all, this was the best bakery in town) and with each bite of Boston cream donut, they merrily forgot the body festering.

The police had intended to revisit the scene after businesses shut for the day, but their minds, weary from enforcing minor traffic infractions, forgot. Meanwhile, a restaurant worker, heading into the alleyway to dispose of the day’s rubbish, noticed the body. Inspired by the priest’s message about being a good Samaritan, he decided he would do the right thing for such a lost soul. Hoisting her up on his shoulders, he tossed her into the dumpster with the day’s trash. She will be much more comfortable here, he thought. As he lifted her though, fluids oozed all over him. He quickly launched her on top of the refuse and began swearing up a storm. “Fucking bitch,” he muttered. Last time I do a “good deed”, he thought, hoping that baking soda would get rid of her secretions.

As dusk fell, the moon ascended, casting a serene glow over the peaceful town. The body lay in a bed of trash, tucked in for the night. By morning, before the sun took its shift, the weekly sanitation engineers made their rounds. Navigating through the alley, they approached the dumpster holding the unfortunate woman. “This trash is particularly foul”, one of them remarked. Using the mechanical forks on their truck, they lifted the dumpster high in the air and dumped its contents into the truck’s hold. Continuing their route, a putrid scent saturated the air around them. Wanting to rid themselves of it, they quickly finished their route and sped to the landfill.

Back in the town, the same elderly couple were on their daily morning stroll around the town square. Lo and behold, there was another body. “Two drunken sluts in a row, “ the wife scoffed. “I shall write to the mayor; this is unacceptable for our town,” the husband declared. This time, they left without even bothering to shake the body. “We’ve done enough for girls like her. Besides, she will probably ignore our gracious help,” they agreed. The bricklayer appeared after, and felt as if he had struck gold. Two days in a row, he thought, Christmas has come early! And so the day went, the town irate at having to deal with another inconvenience for the second day in a row.