Stop. I’ve hit my max, so now I’m at my min. ‘S darn shame. No more spirits ‘til tomorrow’s din. It looks like I awaken to eggs scrambled in the morning, and I’m leaving early for work, I’ve been investigating, from home, the murder case bloodied as though by a blender or a mace. This is not cronulent, I shall not relent, I know that its wrong, but not where the truth went. I shall stare through my lens ‘til the new truth is lit. Relevant cruelties leapt to where I see fit. Such philanthropy, I do provide despite the rope binding me to a tree on the side, of the road; I agree that I am not free, but as soon as he crosses that street I shall flee from he who it is that wants me beat. Perhaps this new detective, from whom I flee, I shall not meet, … until after I’ve eaten my treat of meat. Both scrupulous it seems that we two may be, the two of us are still at a loss it would seem, plus who would guess that the competition for best binds us both in spite of the rest of the complications our relation’s arrest. There no lust, there is no us, so don’t make a fuss or we won’t see the—group fussing over a pool of blood, spang dab in the center of the floor. Dead in the lighthouse, owner of a houseboat and a redwing bird, a boatman for all mankind, killed by his kindred wingless man, before he hit his prime. Reading the autopsy, the clues I find are a skeuomorphic paper weight, (I can hardly understand what the killer wished to state) and paper right on his behind. Precisely how should I react, I do not know, but apt this killer absolutely is, I know. As I walk the panels I grab the note, thievery is something for which I have a knack. Wouldn’t want the evidence destroyed mid-snack; a nice old man offered me rice in a pack. The whereabouts of the antique wine I know not, but that’s the symbol he left on the side of the spot, where the span of the man’s blood did land. The unique spear sticking out of his chest is rare, old, and frightening, oh yes. But the classically smooth trick was a trick no more as the autopsy says he died of poison and no more. So this eerie gear in the murderer’s plot, shall no longer be able to hide his onslaught. So I sprint, up the winding road to the winery, atop the cliff by the pier, never shedding a tear for the death searing my ear from when the corpse had appeared. There’s no shame in fame I thought, so forget those whose games reached their end and instead aim for those whose capture’ll bring be fame and bread upon the top of my table with plenty of it to go around. Of me, you see, I’m sure this villain has proved no peer, as I’ve caught him red-handed where I was told he’d appear. But then, FEAR. I felt a leer, from beyond the beer filling the rows of barrels in the lighthouse courtyard. Its owner at his limit, his edge, his last, his final stand until the end. I’m at my threshold, I’m ready to start before this fear takes ahold of my heart. Forget the rest, I’m ready to start. Moon high in the skies above, moonlight shining down, this whangdoodle’s ready to teach a lesson to the killer across the grounds. No regrets, no time to fret. I AM the arbiter, charring the barbs and mushroom spores with trail of flame left behind, I chased after the killer to confiscate his arms and prevent his crimes alarms from bringing more harm to the town. Alarmed at my chase and not enjoying the race, he tried to end my chore and turn his story to lore. He aimed to jump straight off the cliff. But I caught him still and he never will, be free to walk amongst us, still, nay, not even amongst his kindred citizens in day within the town in which I live. It’s to the gallows for him, good bye for good. But, I know this cannot certainly be good. With no villain in town, I’ll have naught to do. Idle and dull, like a seagull doodling for food. But I choose to worry not, I know I will glow, when press catches wind of this. A charming noble caught the villain, he’s a prodigy, now I’m sure who all shall adore, but at what cost at what need had I to succeed after having had him caught and freed so many times a misdeed. Such is the curse to come with fame, a bowl of shame to remember the game.