On the edge of the city there is a park where people gather either to give their kids a chance to burn off energy, to feed the ducks, to enjoy a picnic, or to take in nature on a hike.
There’s a playground usually filled with squealing, laughing, and sometimes crying children. If you follow the path you’ll find yourself in the middle of rolling greenspace where people play frisbee, suntan on a blanket on the grass, read a book, or enjoy a picnic. There’s also a small creek where ducks like to skim the surface. And if you keep walking you’ll eventually reach the baseball diamond.
The park is bordered by a forest of trees where, if you follow the path over the bridge you’ll find hiking trails of various levels of difficulty winding through the trees. This bridge takes you over a creek that rushes through slopping banks on either side.
Most days the park is a conduit for enjoyment. A beloved space for most of the city’s citizens. But on this particular day, for this particular person, a shadow of grave misfortune befell him.
When the body was found and a description of the man and day he was thought to have died came out, many potential witnesses came forward.
“I saw him chasing a duck! Funniest thing I ever saw.”
“He was the creepy guy taking photos of the kids at the playground. Looks like he got what was coming to him.”
“Wasn’t he the guy we saw at the baseball game yesterday?”
“Was that him? I guess it could have been.”
Over and over, someone saw him here. Someone saw him there. Most are mistaken, but someone did see him. If only they’d paid a bit closer attention, he might still be alive. Then again, if they had, someone else may have died.
Scrambled Narratives 