Event+6

By: Eduardo Schahin Coccaro By: Eduardo Schahin Coccaro Scene 6 “The Discussion” Charlie reached for his hard bread and ham sandwich, his hands dull and cold due to the temperature outside. His fingers had already taken hold of it, when a grey mouse bit his indicator and scurried away down the iron table. In his rage, Charlie picked up his beer mug, and without a second thought, threw it at the mouse. The rodent dodged the threat, and escaped to his hole at the end of the hall. “What a nasty surprise!” Charlie said “Seeing one of those filthy plague transmitters right on my sandwich!” And, as he finished his statement, he gave one big bite at his sandwich, cleaned his bleeding finger with one of his mates’ beer, and laid his elbows on the bread crumble covered table. “You shouldn’t say that,” remarked Tom. “Say what?” Charlie questioned. “That rats are plague transmitting creatures. The real villains are the fleas that live on their skin.” “Oh, yes, and the bogeymen is a poor decent fella down the street,” Charlie said ironically. “But I still gotta admit something though: that rat knew his way around the meal hall better than I do.” “You see, rats are not as dumb as people portray them. Once they know their way around, they will never forget it,” Tom briefed Charlie. “You know, in a way they are just like Star Rellik.” “Watch your tongue, Tom, or trust me you’ll regret it,” Charlie threatened. “I’ve told you over and over: it’s Mrs. Star Applegate now. Stop using her maiden name.” “It’s curious how you are so enticed by her and what other people say that you don’t stop to think about her true nature,” Tom suggested with a sigh. “Hey, rat aficionado,” Charlie said, “You better shut your mouth or I will shut it for you.” Tom resigned from his provocation game, and reached out for his oatmeal biscuit. As he stretched his arms across the bare table, everyone else sitting there held their breath with surprise, except for one person, who kept his eyes dull and his mind suspicious. That person raised his hands to his chin and, amidst his calculations, decided to interrogate Tom. “So, mate, how was it that you got that scar again?” “I’ve told you, Charlie. It is from the day I slipped on a puddle and fell in a sharp stone on my way home.” “Interesting. But that surely is odd: I haven’t seen any stone just lying on the sidewalk here in London. At least on the way home, the same one you take every day, Tom, just before crossing the street and entering your house.” “I have told you this twice over already: I went to take a walk.” “Seriously? Mighty coincidence.” “Mighty coincidence with what, may I know?” “That you unexpectedly went to take a walk in the same night,” and here Charlie took a long breath, “the same night that Helga was murdered.” Silence fell on the table, and everyone around the room was still, at least until Tom took a bite of his oatmeal biscuit and left his seat, headed for the door. Just as he had swallowed the last bit of his cookie, and was now only inches away from the cold, rusty door, he turned back in a sudden rush of rage, maybe even pity for his friend. “Star was late too,” Tom replied, in such a faint voice that even those closer to him couldn’t make out the meaning of the words coming out of his mouth. “I’m sorry? I guess I didn’t hear what you just said quite right,” Charlie said loudly. “I said,” Tom replied, “that your wife, Mrs. Star Applegate,” and here he clenched his teeth tightly, “your wife was late too!” And he finished with a strong voice that echoed across the room. “Are you insinuating,” Charlie reacted, with his red indicator finger pointing at Tom, “are you daring to tell me that Star could have possibly done such a horrible, vile…” “Yes, I am! And trust me, I know much more than you could even guess.” “My wife already told me why she was late. She was at a “Weaving Ladies Club” reunion. You know that.” Charlie was beginning to lose his patience. “Sure, but then why did Susan, who is your wife’s best friend, tell me that she went to the grocery store? Mighty long trip, if the grocery store is just round the corner, and mighty suspicious that she came back empty handed.” “The club is an activity Star prefers to do without her neighborhood friends,” Charlie assured. “And, if you ask me, her explanation makes much more sense than yours.” “I will tell you again what I’ve been telling you for a long time. I know much more things about Star’s whereabouts than you imagine. And who else do you think had more of a reason to murder Helga?” There was a dead silence in the room now, broken only by the accusations the two men fired at each other, as the air became more and more tense, so tense that you could almost feel it in your skin. “I will tell for the last time something I don’t think you have quite understood yet: Star has sworn to me over and over that she never felt even a drop of jealousy from Helga in her life.” “Oh, really? And who’s word do you believe in: your best friend’s or the ones of a liar you just got married to?!” “Be careful not to insult Star ever again, and do never overestimate what others think of you, you miserable bum! Go back to your midnight wanderings and leave me alone!” And at the last part, Tom raised his voice so that the people working three floors above could clearly hear his words. “Fine! This is just fine! Let me tell this tale to the police, and see which side of the story they believe in!” As he slammed the meal hall’s doors with a loud bang, he narrowly escaped from being hit by a beer mug, which broke into smithereens as it crashed against the massive doors.

Scene 6, Draft 2 “The Discussion” Charlie reached for his hard bread and ham sandwich, his hands dull and cold due to the temperature outside. His fingers had already taken hold of it, when a grey mouse bit his index finger and scurried away down the iron table. In his rage, Charlie picked up his beer mug, and without a second thought, threw it at the mouse. The rodent dodged the threat, and escaped to his hole at the end of the hall. “Bloody hell!” Charlie said “Another one of those plague transmitting rats eating my sandwich, just like yesterday!” And, as he finished his statement, he gave one big bite at his sandwich, cleaned his bleeding finger with one of his mates’ beer, and laid his elbows on the bread crumble covered table. “Yea shouldn’t say that,” remarked Tom. “Say what?” Charlie questioned. “That rats are plague transmitting creatures. The real villains are the fleas that live on their skin.” “Oh, yeah, and the bogeymen is a poor decent fella down the street,” Charlie said sarcastically. “But I still gotta admit something though: that rat knew his way around the lunch hall better than I do.” “Yea see, rats are not as dumb as people say they are. Once they know their way around, they will never forget it,” Tom briefed Charlie. “You know, in a way they are just like Star Rellik.” “Watch your tongue, mate, or trust me you’ll regret it,” Charlie threatened. “I’ve told you over and over: it’s Mrs. Star Burks now. Stop using her maiden name.” “It’s curious how you became her hostage, and never stop to think about her true nature,” Tom suggested with a sigh. “Hey, rat aficionado,” Charlie said, “Yea better shut yer mouth or I will shut it for you.” Tom resigned from his provocation game, and reached out for his oatmeal biscuit. As he stretched his arms across the bare table, everyone else sitting there held their breath with surprise, except for one person, who kept his eyes dull and his mind suspicious. That person raised his hands to his chin and, amidst his calculations, decided to interrogate Tom. “So, mate, how was it that yea got that scar again?” “I’ve told yea, Charlie. It is from the day I slipped on a puddle and fell in a sharp stone on my way home.” “Interesting. But that surely is odd: I haven’t seen any stone just lying on the sidewalk here in London. At least not on the way home, the same one you happen to take every day, Tom, just before crossing the street and entering your house.” For some reason, Charlie wasn’t quite convinced of Tom’s explanation. “I’ve told this to yea twice over already: I went to take a walk.” Tom wasn’t enjoying Charlie’s interrogation. “Seriously? Bloody coincidence.” Charlie observed. “What’s the bloody coincidence with what, may I know?” “That yea unexpectedly went to take a walk the same night,” and here Charlie took a long breath, “the same night that Mildred was murdered.” Silence fell on the table, and everyone around the room was still, at least until Tom took a bite of his oatmeal biscuit and left his seat, headed for the door. Just as he had swallowed the last bit of his cookie, and was now only inches away from the cold, rusty door, he turned back in a sudden rush of rage, maybe even pity for his friend. “Star was late too,” Tom replied, in such a faint voice that even those closer to him couldn’t make out the meaning of the words coming out of his mouth. “I’m sorry? I guess I didn’t hear what you just said quite right, mate,” Charlie said loudly. “I said,” Tom replied, “that yer wife, Mrs. Star Burks,” and here he clenched his teeth tightly, “yer wife was late too!” And he finished with a strong voice that echoed across the room. “Are yea insinuating,” Charlie reacted, with his red index finger pointing at Tom, “are yea daring to tell me that Star could have possibly done such a horrible, vile…” “Yes, I am! And trust me, I know much more about her than you could even guess.” “My wife already told me why she was late. She was at a “Weaving Ladies Club” reunion. You know that very well.” Charlie was beginning to lose his patience. “Sure, but then why did Susan, who is your wife’s best friend, tell me that she went to the grocery store? Mighty long trip, if the grocery store is just round the corner, and mighty suspicious that she came back empty handed.” Tom was getting angrier with Charlie’s stubbornness to accept his version of events by the minute. “The club is an activity Star would rather to do without her neighborhood friends,” Charlie assured. “And, if you ask me, her explanation makes much more sense than yers.” “I will tell you again what I’ve been telling you for a long time. I know much more things about Star’s whereabouts than yea could imagine. And who else do yea think had more of a reason to murder Mildred?” There was a dead silence in the room now, broken only by the accusations the two men fired at each other, as the air became more and more tense, so tense that you could almost feel it in your skin. “Blimey, Tom, I’ll tell yea for the last time something I don’t think yea have quite understood yet: Star has sworn to me over and over that she never felt even a drop of jealousy from Mildred in her entire life.” “Oh, really? And who’s word do you believe in: your best friend’s or the ones of a liar you just got married to?!” “Be careful not to insult Star ever again, fool, and don’t think that others think very much of yea, yer miserable bum! Go back to your midnight wanderings and leave me alone!” And at the last part, Tom raised his voice so that the people working three floors above could clearly hear his words. “Fine! This is just fine! Let me tell this tale to the police, and see which side of the story they believe in!” And, before Charlie could even articulate an answer, Tom had already left the cafeteria and was already on the hallway leading to the exit of the factory. As Tom slammed the meal hall’s doors with a loud bang, he narrowly escaped from being hit by a beer mug, which broke into smithereens as it crashed against the massive doors.

By: Eduardo Schahin Coccaro Scene 6, Draft 3 “The Discussion” Charlie reached for his hard bread and ham sandwich, his hands dull and cold due to the temperature outside. His fingers had already taken hold of it, when a grey mouse bit his index finger and scurried away down the iron table. In his rage, Charlie picked up his beer mug, and without a second thought, threw it at the mouse. The rodent dodged the threat, and escaped to his hole at the end of the hall. “Bloody hell!” Charlie said “Another one of those plague transmitting rats eating my sandwich, just like yesterday!” And, as he finished his statement, he gave one big bite at his sandwich, cleaned his bleeding finger with one of his mates’ beer, and laid his elbows on the bread crumble covered table. “Yea shouldn’t say that,” remarked Tom. “Say what?” Charlie questioned. “That rats are plague transmitting creatures. The real villains are the fleas that live on their skin.” “Oh, yeah, and the bogeymen is a poor decent fella down the street,” Charlie said sarcastically. “But I still gotta admit something though: that rat knew his way around the lunch hall better than I do.” “Yea see, rats are not as dumb as people say they are. Once they know their way around, they will never forget it,” Tom briefed Charlie. “Yea know, the opinion people have of them is just as wrong as your opinion of Star Rellik.” “Watch your tongue, mate, or trust me you’ll regret it,” Charlie threatened. “I’ve told you over and over: Star’s a nice lady.” “It’s curious how you became her hostage, and never stop to think about her true nature,” Tom suggested with a sigh. “Hey, rat aficionado,” Charlie said, “Yea better shut yer mouth or I will shut it for yea.” Tom resigned from his provocation game, and reached out for his oatmeal biscuit. As he stretched his arms across the bare table, everyone else sitting there held their breath with surprise, except for one person, who kept his eyes dull and his mind suspicious. That person raised his hands to his chin and, amidst his calculations, decided to interrogate Tom. “So, mate, how was it that yea got that scar again?” “I’ve told yea, Charlie. It is from the day I slipped on a puddle and fell in a sharp stone on my way home.” “Interesting. But that surely is odd. I always thought that yea took the bus to get home. And it always drops yea right in front of yer house, doesn’t it? Yea would have surely noticed such a big puddle right in front of yer doorway, if it was deep enough for the stone that caused yer scar to fit in it.” For some reason, Charlie wasn’t quite convinced of Tom’s explanation. “I’ve told this to yea twice over already: I went to take a walk.” Tom wasn’t enjoying Charlie’s interrogation. “Seriously? Bloody coincidence,” Charlie observed. “What’s the bloody coincidence with what, may I know?” “That yea unexpectedly went to take a walk the same night,” and here Charlie took a long breath, “the same night that Mildred was murdered.” Tom’s cold pupils looked straight into Charlie’s eyes. Tom’s expression could be read in two words: shut up. “It’s weird how that scar looks just so much more like it was made by a knife than by a rock. Was it Mildred’s last desperate attempt to survive?” Charlie’s bold answer to Tom’s expression provoked whispers through the entire room. Silence fell on the table, and everyone around the room was still, at least until Tom took a bite of his oatmeal biscuit and left his seat, headed for the door. Just as he had swallowed the last bit of his cookie, and was now only inches away from the cold, rusty door, he turned back in a sudden rush of rage, maybe even pity for his friend. “Star was late too,” Tom replied, in such a faint voice that even those closer to him couldn’t make out the meaning of the words coming out of his mouth. “I’m sorry? I guess I didn’t hear what you just said quite right, mate,” Charlie said loudly. “I said,” Tom replied, “that yer girlfriend, Ms. Star Rellik,” and here he clenched his teeth tightly, “yer girlfriend was late too!” And he finished with a strong voice that echoed across the room. “Are yea insinuating,” Charlie reacted, with his red index finger pointing at Tom, “are yea daring to tell me that Star could have possibly done such a horrible, vile…” “Yes, I am! And trust me, mate, I know much more about her than you could even guess.” “Star already told me why she was late. She was at a “Weaving Ladies Club” reunion. You know that very well.” Charlie was beginning to lose his patience. “Sure, but then why did Susan, who is your wife’s best friend, tell me that she went to the grocery store? Mighty long trip, if the grocery store is just round the corner, and mighty suspicious that she came back empty handed.” Tom was getting angrier with Charlie’s stubbornness to accept his version of events by the minute. “The club is an activity Star would rather to do without her neighborhood friends,” Charlie assured. “And, if you ask me, her explanation makes much more sense than yers.” “I will tell you again what I’ve been telling you for a long time. I know much more things about Star’s whereabouts than yea could imagine. Do you seriously believe that I murdered Mildred?” There was a dead silence in the room now, broken only by the accusations the two men fired at each other, as the air became more and more tense, so tense that you could almost feel it in your skin. “Blimey, Tom, yea never even pretended to like old Mildred. She made your life miserable, and you weren’t shy to expose your views of her. Moreover, what was the great crime Star ever committed? Far as I’m concerned, weaving ain’t no crime!” “Oh, really? And who’s word do you believe in: your best friend’s or the ones of a liar you just met?!” “Be careful not to insult Star ever again, fool, and don’t think that others think very much of yea, yer miserable bum! Go back to your night wanderings and leave me alone!” And at the last part, Tom raised his voice so that the people working three floors above could clearly hear his words. “Fine! This is just fine! Let me tell this tale to the police, and see which side of the story they believe in!” And, before Charlie could even articulate an answer, Tom had already left the cafeteria and was already on the hallway leading to the exit of the factory. As Tom slammed the meal hall’s doors with a loud bang, he narrowly escaped from being hit by a beer mug, which broke into smithereens as it crashed against the massive doors.

By: Eduardo Schahin Coccaro Scene 6, Draft 4 “The Discussion” The bell rang loud and echoed throughout the factory; every worker knew that it was the beginning of the lunchtime given to the workers in section A. The hallways became crowded as a slow moving mass of tired men headed for the meal hall. Charlie walked with slow, heavy steps, and was one of the first to arrive at the door. He went to the food line, where a single woman now had to take care of all the workers’ demands, and got a full mug of beer to ease his nerves. He sat on an old metal table with two wooden benches on the sides, and dug his right hand deep in his pockets. He took out his snack, wrapped in the same worn tablecloth he used every day, and reached for his hard bread and ham sandwich. His fingers had already taken hold of it, when a grey mouse bit his index finger and scurried away down the iron table. In his rage, Charlie picked up his beer mug, and without a second thought, threw it at the mouse. The rodent dodged the threat, and escaped to his hole at the end of the hall. “Bloody hell!” Charlie said “Another one of those plague transmitting rats eating my sandwich, just like yesterday!” And, as he finished his statement, he gave one big bite at his sandwich, cleaned his bleeding finger with one of his mates’ beer, and laid his elbows on the bread crumble covered table. “Yea shouldn’t say that,” remarked Tom. “Say what?” Charlie questioned. “That rats are plague transmitting creatures. The real villains are the fleas that live on their skin.” “Oh, yeah, and the bogeymen is a poor decent fella down the street,” Charlie said sarcastically. “But I still gotta admit something though: that rat knew his way around the lunch hall better than I do.” “Yea see, rats are not as dumb as people say they are. Once they know their way around, they will never forget it,” Tom briefed Charlie. “Yea know, the opinion people have of them is just as wrong as your opinion of Star Rellik.” “Watch your tongue, mate, or trust me you’ll regret it,” Charlie threatened. “I’ve told you over and over: Star’s a nice lady.” “It’s curious how you became her hostage, and never stop to think about her true nature,” Tom suggested with a sigh. “Hey, rat aficionado,” Charlie said, “Yea better shut yer mouth or I will shut it for yea.” Tom resigned from his provocation game, and reached out for his oatmeal biscuit. As he stretched his arms across the bare table, everyone else sitting there held their breath with surprise, except for one person, who kept his eyes dull and his mind suspicious. That person raised his hands to his chin and, amidst his calculations, decided to interrogate Tom. “So, mate, how was it that yea got that scar again?” “I’ve told yea, Charlie. It is from the day I slipped on a puddle and fell in a sharp stone on my way home.” “Interesting. But that surely is odd. I always thought that yea took the bus to get home. And it always drops yea right in front of yer house, doesn’t it? Yea would have surely noticed such a big puddle right in front of yer doorway, if it was deep enough for the stone that caused yer scar to fit in it.” For some reason, Charlie wasn’t quite convinced of Tom’s explanation. “I’ve told this to yea twice over already: I went to take a walk.” Tom wasn’t enjoying Charlie’s interrogation. “Seriously? Bloody coincidence,” Charlie observed. “What’s the bloody coincidence with what, may I know?” “That yea unexpectedly went to take a walk the same night,” and here Charlie took a long breath, “the same night that Mildred was murdered.” Tom’s cold pupils looked straight into Charlie’s eyes. Tom’s expression could be read in two words: shut up. “It’s weird how that scar looks just so much more like it was made by a knife than by a rock. Was it Mildred’s last desperate attempt to survive?” Charlie’s bold answer to Tom’s expression provoked whispers through the entire room. Silence fell on the table, and everyone around the room was still, at least until Tom took a bite of his oatmeal biscuit and left his seat, headed for the door. Just as he had swallowed the last bit of his cookie, and was now only inches away from the cold, rusty door, he turned back in a sudden rush of rage, maybe even pity for his friend. “Star was late too,” Tom replied, in such a faint voice that even those closer to him couldn’t make out the meaning of the words coming out of his mouth. “I’m sorry? I guess I didn’t hear what you just said quite right, mate,” Charlie said loudly. “I said,” Tom replied, “that yer girlfriend, Ms. Star Rellik,” and here he clenched his teeth tightly, “yer girlfriend was late too!” And he finished with a strong voice that echoed across the room. “Are yea insinuating,” Charlie reacted, with his red index finger pointing at Tom, “are yea daring to tell me that Star could have possibly done such a horrible, vile…” “Yes, I am! And trust me, mate, I know much more about her than you could even guess.” “Star already told me why she was late. She was at a “Weaving Ladies Club” reunion. You know that very well.” Charlie was beginning to lose his patience. “Sure, but then why did Susan, who is your wife’s best friend, tell me that she went to the grocery store? Mighty long trip, if the grocery store is just round the corner, and mighty suspicious that she came back empty handed.” Tom was getting angrier with Charlie’s stubbornness to accept his version of events by the minute. “The club is an activity Star would rather to do without her neighborhood friends,” Charlie assured. “And, if you ask me, her explanation makes much more sense than yers.” “I will tell you again what I’ve been telling you for a long time. I know much more things about Star’s whereabouts than yea could imagine. Do you seriously believe that I murdered Mildred?” There was a dead silence in the room now, broken only by the accusations the two men fired at each other, as the air became more and more tense, so tense that you could almost feel it in your skin. “Blimey, Tom, yea never even pretended to like old Mildred. She made your life miserable, and you weren’t shy to expose your views of her. Moreover, what was the great crime Star ever committed? Far as I’m concerned, weaving ain’t no crime!” “Oh, really? And who’s word do you believe in: your best friend’s or the ones of a liar you just met?!” “Be careful not to insult Star ever again, fool, and don’t think that others think very much of yea, yer miserable bum! Go back to your night wanderings and leave me alone!” And at the last part, Tom raised his voice so that the people working three floors above could clearly hear his words. “Fine! This is just fine! Let me tell this tale to the police, and see which side of the story they believe in!” And, before Charlie could even articulate an answer, Tom had already left the cafeteria and was already on the hallway leading to the exit of the factory. As Tom slammed the meal hall’s doors with a loud bang, he narrowly escaped from being hit by a beer mug, which broke into smithereens as it crashed against the massive doors.

Eduardo Schahin, Scene 6, Draft Five (I copy-pasted it from the "Final Rat Trap")

The bell rang loud and echoed throughout the factory. It was finally snack time. The hallways became crowded as a slow moving mass of tired men headed for the meal hall. Charlie walked with slow, heavy steps. He went to the food line to get a full mug of beer to ease his nerves. He sat on an old metal table with two wooden benches on the sides, and greeted his mate Tom as he sat on the opposite bench. Soon the table was almost full, except for a spot Charlie saved next to him for Star, who arrived a little late. Charlie dug his right hand deep in hi pocket, took out his snack, wrapped in the same worn napkin he used every day, and reached for his hard bread and ham sandwich. His fingers had already taken hold of it, when a grey mouse bit his index finger and scurried away down the iron table. In his rage, Charlie picked up his beer mug, and without a second thought, threw it at the mouse. The rodent dodged the threat, and escaped to his hole at the end of the hall. “Bloody hell!” Charlie said “Another one of those plague transmitting rats eating my sandwich, just like yeste’day!” And, as he finished his statement, he gave one big bite at his sandwich. “Ye shouldn’t say that,” remarked Tom. “Say what?” Charlie questioned. “That rats are plague transmitting creatures. The real villains are the fleas that live on their skin.” “Aye, mate, and the bogeyman’s a poor decent fella down the street,” Charlie said sarcastically. However, he remembered just how depressed Tom should be (Scabbers had just died), so he quickly added an apology. “Sorry, mate. It’s just that, ye know, with Star getting hurt and everything else… sorry, I really mean it. I might not like ’em rats, but I sure have to admit something, though: that rat knew his way around the lunch hall better than I do.” “Ye see, rats are not as dumb as people say they are. Once they know their way around somewhere, they’ll nevah forget ‘em. Yeh know, rats are mostly nocturnal creatures. They seldom come out this time of day, which makes me wonder why would that little fella leave his hole to come here… Stah, have you evah noticed how ‘em rats always appear when ye are around?” Tom gave Star a menacing look, and then gazed at the table. “Holy cow, Tom! Ye’re such an observer! True enough, ‘em rats appear when I’m around. But, bloody coincidence, have yeh evah stopped and realized that so are you, and everyone else who sits at tis’ table, present whenever yer friends come to visit us?” Star was never in a good mood when she talked to Tom, but today, after twisting her knee and waiting for the nurse for such a long time, her mood was especially unfriendly. “Hey, ye barmy bloke, ye could be a little more polite to others, couldn’t ye? Yer mood’s worse than that of a pregnant rat! Ain’t that right, mate?” And, as Tom finished criticizing Star, he turned to Charlie, waiting for an answer. Tom wouldn’t let Star have the last word, and he believed that Charlie would obviously take his side, like any other good friend. But, instead of sticking up for Tom, Charlie just said: “Blimey, couldn’t ye just keep quiet for once?” Star bit her lower lip, and had quite a sour expression on her face. Tom looked at the table, and he saw Charlie’s oatmeal biscuit just lying there, as if Charlie didn’t care about it. He didn’t bring anything to eat, and that biscuit looked exceptionally good. “Oi, mate, can I have that biscuit of yers?” Tom asked, looking straight at it. “As always, the bum fo’got to bring his snack. What happened now, huh? Did Scabbers eat it in the morning?” Star never liked the fact that Tom was always borrowing things from Charlie, especially when he didn’t give them back. “Ye know, rats share everything among themselves, unlike you, Stah.” “Can’t ye just stop arguing? Yes, mate, you can have that biscuit.” Charlie was tired of Star’s comebacks, even though he loved her with all his heart. He rose from his seat, and went to refill his beer mug. Tom’s right arm went to grab the biscuit across the table, but his long sleeve got stuck beneath one of his fellow worker’s elbow. As he stretched his bare arms across the table, everyone else sitting there held their breath with great surprise, except for one person, who kept her eyes dull and her mind suspicious. That person raised her hands to her chin and, amidst her calculations, decided to interrogate Tom. “So, Tom, how was it that ye got that scar again?” Star questioned, her eyes looking straight at the long scar on Tom’s arm. “I already told ye. I went to the front of the factory to take some air for meself after the morning break. I slipped in a puddle and cut my arm because of a bluhdy sharp rock. Satisfied?” Tom was quite cross at his description, since it didn’t please him at all. “Only one mo’e question. Wasn’t Mildred ‘round there, too?” “I really don’t know, Stah. I didn’t see her. Now, why don’t ye just keep yer questions to yerself?” Tom was really //not// enjoying Star’s questions. “I don’t know, Tom, if I really can believe your version. Where did that scar come from? Was it ol’ Mildred’s last attempt to survive, when you attacked her?” “What are ye insinue’ting, ye bloke?” Tom’s patience with Star was over. “That ye were at the same place Mildred was, at the same bluhdy time, and that ye came out all right, while ol’ Mildred’s corpse came out in a bag.” “Aye, Stah’s right!” One worker yelled. “He ha’ gotten in a fight with Mildred, hadn’t he?” Another worker remarked. Soon, the entire hall was filled with cries of “Murderer!” and Tom tried to defend himself in vain. Charlie left the line for the drinks in a hurry, and he rushed to assist his friend. “Ye know what? I could’ve just killed ye, Stah, ye fat, good for nothing buttock!” Tom yelled at the top of his lungs, filled with rage. Charlie stopped short. Could it be that…? Could Tom have actually… killed Mildred? The entire room was silent now. “Ye know I didn’t mean…” Tom staggered, “I didn’t mean that I… Charlie, ye know that I would nevah hut a fly!” After a long pause, Charlie finally opened his mouth: “How could ye evah do such…such…such a horrible thing?” “But I didn’t do it! I swear!” Tom cried, tears running down his cheeks. “Ge’ outta here!” Star hollered at him. “Or we will call the police!” “Don’t bothah,” Tom answered. “I will go there meself, and see who thay believe in!”