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The morning wasn't like a regular one. The fog was thick—so thick it felt like a heavy curtain over the world. It was early December, and the cold was just as extreme as the fog.
I usually wake up 15 minutes before my alarm, but today, I had lost count of how many times I had stirred before it rang. A low but piercing cold air crept through the small opening in my window, pulling me from sleep. I reached for my blanket, but instead, my hands met the little blouse I had worn the night before and taken off because of the heat. I'll take it, I thought, fighting to keep my eyes shut. But what the hell—I was awake.
I picked up my phone, its dim backlight revealing my screen. A picture of my favorite person, grinning wide, greeted me. 5:35 AM. Again. It usually meant I would pace for the next 25 minutes until life kicked into the house.
I got up from my bed and decided to step out for an early blunt session. The weather made me crave a smoke. Staggering slightly, I guessed I was still hungover from the night before. I threw the bed cover off me, scanning the floor for my clothes in the usual pile. My room was mostly made up of clothes and shoes, barely leaving a spot for me to rest my head.
I found my jeans and quickly put them on, still bare-chested. My shirt was sitting on my box—an easy-wear T-shirt that used to belong to my ex, Terrence. It was perfect for this weather, and it made me feel nostalgic.
I brushed my teeth—it was my favorite ritual, the one thing that always felt like me. By 5:50 AM, I opened my door, walked through the kitchen, and within seconds, I was heading to the gate, keys in hand, moving quickly and quietly.
As the gate creaked open, I noticed how dense the fog was—you couldn't see the person standing two feet away from you. Still, I forged ahead. I needed to get to my spot before the morning rush—before the city stirred awake with school buses and commuters filling the streets.
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That's when I heard it—a loud gunshot—followed by silence. The sound came from at least ten houses away from where I was. Adrenaline took over, but instead of pushing me toward my house, it pulled me toward the sound of the gunshot.
Just then, I heard hurried footsteps and caught a scent I knew all too well—a mix of woodland perfume, rolled tobacco, and a hint of alcoholic herbs, overlaid with the strong, masculine scent of an old man. I could swear I smelled Old Man Crane—a deranged ex-military Major General. He always claimed he never wanted to be a full General, but I knew that was just a cover-up to hide the fact that he was a coward. I shook off the feeling and hurried in the direction of the noise.
The house was crowded with people. Three men stood where a yellow rose bush once bloomed. I walked past them after a few pleasantries and headed to the front porch. The door was wide open. From a distance, I could make out a shirtless figure kneeling before something—or someone. As I inched closer, I realized he was kneeling in front of a pool of blood. And then I saw her—Madam V's lifeless body.
Veronica Jones Crane, aka Madam V, was the wife of Old Man Crane. What the hell was she doing in Victor Alexander's house so early? And, worse yet—why was she dead?
Victor knelt there, looking lost and confused. I heard him fumble for his cellphone. A woman on the other end of the line answered.
"222, thank you for calling 222. What's your emergency?"
Vic's voice was shaky. "There's a dead woman in my house. I think I killed her, but... I don't remember doing it."
"Sir, if I'm hearing you correctly, there's a dead woman in your house?"
"Yes!" Victor responded.
"Sir, what's your address?"
"24 Pman Street, 5th Avenue. Sheffield."
"We are sending our dispatch team. Please remain where you are."
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Here's a cleaned-up version of your text with grammatical corrections and improved flow, while keeping the original tone and narrative style intact:
"How do we tell the old man about this? Can he handle it in his condition? He might just lose the last screw," David Adine said.
He was a middle-aged man with a sharp look—tall and well-built. He was obsessed with keeping fit. He often told us never to get married, which was rich and hilarious coming from someone who had been married four times. He was currently dating Miss Rosemary—we all called her Rose. She owns a bakery at the end of the street. A woman in her late thirties, a single mum, and also the mother of my best friend in the world, Aurora-Sky.
The fog had started to clear, and the sound of sirens was everywhere.
"Has anyone seen Old Man Crane? He needs to know about the death of his wife, Brannet Lois," a pretty red-haired woman said. "I cannot begin to imagine how he'll take the news."
The police arrived fifteen minutes after the call was made. They put up signs that read: "Crime Scene. Keep Off."
"Are you Victor Alexander?" a petite policewoman asked.
Still dazed and confused, Victor answered, "Yes, I am."
"You made the call to us about a murder you committed—without knowing," she said.
Hearing this from a stranger made Victor even more confused and disoriented.
"I really don't know what happened. The only thing I remember is opening my eyes and seeing a dead woman here."
"Well, you have to come with us to the station to give your statement and answer a few questions," said the smallish policewoman with a name tag that read Agnes Lauren.
"Let me put something on," Victor replied, suddenly realizing he was only wearing boxers. The dead woman had no clothes on either—just a bedspread wrapped around her.
"What is going on here?" a voice rang out from outside the crowd. Immediately, silence fell.
Old Man Crane pushed through the crowd.
"Please, sir, remain where you are. This is a crime scene," an officer said, trying to block him from entering.
"I heard from my tenant, Miss Jewel, that someone has been killed. And that someone is my wife."
"It can't be true. My wife had a late-night shift. She was supposed to be back by noon. How is she dead—and in Victor's house? I don't understand..."
"Please, sir, can you step away from the body?"
"Investigations have begun. You need to come with us to the station to give your statement. We'll do everything in our power to ensure justice is served."
Sorry, I forgot to introduce myself. My name is Pine Peaches.
Yeah, you read that right. My mum was obsessed with the name—I don't know why. But it was boldly written in her diary with a date. I felt bad about accidentally invading her privacy, so I didn't read any further.
Anyway, I'm a 19-year-old college dropout.
My story isn't as complicated as that of my neighbors, but I'll give you a quick summary.
I'm an aspiring writer with absolutely no interest in school or anything related to it. You can imagine the look on my perfect mum and dad's faces when I told them I'd dropped out. Mum wanted me to be a lawyer, and Dad was rooting for an architect.
Well, Dad's dream came true—but his efforts went down the drain. And honestly? I have no regrets. Best decision I ever made.
At least Mum and Dad got to live their own dreams.
My mum, Mrs. Gold Wealth, got to flash her perfect teeth and smile as an actress.
And my dad, Mr. Gabriel Wealth, became a civil engineer.
I dropped out in my second year and started writing.
Now, I work at Golden Mart as a receptionist.
Well, welcome to my neighborhood. I'll be your host—bringing you the juiciest, most interesting, and most secretive secrets of my neighbors… and of yours truly.
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