A Short Story by San Juanita Hernández-Cortenoever

Whatever it is, the way you tell your story online can make all the difference.

The commander cleared her throat and stuck the facts to the board. What they knew could be counted on one hand: the victim’s false identity, modest career, lack of close relationships, and his time of death.
She’d never been efficient at managing her emotions, still locked up for a few seconds when she passed that yellow tape, somehow worse after the promotions from 15 years of noticing how and why people kill. TV makes her and her colleagues look like observant rockstars, using clues and a penchant for puzzles to rid society of her worst. But that wasn’t the case, if you’ll forgive the pun — the solve rate was abysmal. Although the fanfare afforded to the high-profile ones helped the pill go down easier for the masses.
Her therapist would call this “overwhelming herself in order to underwhelm herself”. Progress.
A cough brings her back to linoleum, fluorescent lighting, and uniforms stress sweating as the solve window approaches. She’s been mostly successful at shoving back a too-cramped apartment, thoughts of mythical coins, and self-actualisation. Here there’s a man that needs justice and for now, that’s all she can handle being aware of.