The Rimber Park Killer

The clear yellow sun awoke the little butterflies in the bright green Rimber park. The marron benches stood up gleaming rays of delight as the house flies spoke woe. The mighty little trees looked upon the tiny little purple orchids as they look at the disgusted Timmy. Little specks of water splashed all over Timmy's new outfit as he threw a pebble at the iconic pond filled with scant water. He woke up, wished the great god of light, sun by bowing down and went jogging to the park where people appeared out of nowhere to sing, dance and laugh but never aimlessly dry in a pool.

The pool was filled with scanty water as the park was being renovated. A black frog leapt out of the lush grass filled with potholes and fearing for snakes, splashed into a green filled water trying to escape them only to find water filled with dust and grass.

It was not all-well as water was clearing. Little brown thing started emerging out of the leafy water. Timmy was perplexed as he saw how a pebble would yield a brown mass appearing out of nowhere in the pond.

He went closer to investigate the brown bag.

Close enough to not get wet or fall, he leapt near the floating rock and atop one, he knelt and looked closely. The water reflected his hand where his pebble dropped as he reached out to it but other areas were filled with moss.

Looking at it closely, he reached out and pulled out a hand. It was brown, speckled, skin peeled and felt like the skin of a fleshy fish.

He looked at in disgust, the human hand was too mucky as the water seeped through the holes and his abdomen started to rile up. It was a brown bag of water, holding as much water in its hollow belly as a camel’s hump.

He hurled away the hand and dashed past all the stones to align himself to a green bush and gag out the water he had before leaving his house.

The hand saw him spewing contempt water out of his guts, the same water which it held as in prison.

He regained composure by squatting and holding the top of the bush.

The watchman saw him near the bush and weak holding to little branches of the tiny tree, "Hello Timmy! What are doing squatting?"

"Ah.. Nothing. A hand." He threw up again.

The watchman looked at the hand 10 meters away and went near to inspect it. He called the authorities to come visit the park he solely guarded all these years.

The secret of the Rimber park lost in the deep mush water has risen up like poverty in the third world.

People gather as the cops, fire fighters, coroners holler in their vans loudly till the mayor's office is flooded with calls. The Mayor’s secretary finishing her bodily duties to the mayor wiped out her face and handed him the phone. The Mayor zipped up, visibly stressed as his eyeballs popped and with a gap in his stomach hurried towards the park.

Mayor finds a spot in the circus of uniformed-up humans and makes a police statement saying, "Some human parts were found and local boy Timmy is the hero who found them. Investigations are underway." He showed Timmy all over the three news stations that showed any kind of interest in the parts of human in a pond.

Timmy kept his mouth hidden with his dirty little hand as he was gutting up little vomits in his mouth.

The mayor looked at the 23-yeat-old and understanding his plight, "Poor guy must be terrified." He then led him to his car and offered to drop him at his home.

The car door opened up and both left in a black renovated ambassador with 20-inch rims. The interior was laced with leather and Timmy felt the cushions smoothing his weakened butt and cold air drying up his sweaty face.

The mayor left him at his home and wished him well.

Timmy’s father was worried and met him at the entrance of his house and checked on him; looking for trauma in his eyes, he drove the reporters away and made him a cup of tea.

Timmy sat in a blue cushion in his brown leather sofa as he realized the event unfolding through his eyes. The hand of Mrs. Potter still wearing the wretched ring of her dead husband haunted him again.

His father poured a nice hot cup of tea and offered him. Timmy's hands were shaky as he took the cup and placed it in the oak teapoy.

His dad looked at his son's strained eyes and covered his cold, shaky legs with a nice, black wooly blanket and asked him, "So, whose was it?"

Timmy burst into tears, "It was Mrs. Potter. Her hand still talks to me."

"I thought we agreed on never mutilating them. What happened?"

"Nothing. I didn't touch her after we were…… done with her."

"Talk to me, son. How was it?" Timmy’s father was broken as his son started breaking his voice

"The hand was cut... No. Butchered in a single stroke towards the elbow. Her ring was still in it. After we dumped her, she was full….. was full like a human but this, this is not her. Not a part of her that could say it's her but they would find her ring. It was brown, wet and water seeping through the cut right before the elbows. It sucked dad. it was horrible."

"We can get through this. Let's see whether the cops can figure it out first, then if we are found, let's escape then."

Both their faces turn red east as the sirens echoed far away. Both looked at each other for a moment briefly and Timmy looked at the cabinet where the 9-mm gun was and his father glanced at the suitcase where he had packed for a time like this.