A bar stool - whose seat is pecked by small tears and gashes, legs weathered by time and splinter, lay toppled on its side. A rope, straight and taut, clings tightly to the aged wooden rafter over head. A man’s body dangles two feet off the ground at the end of the fibrous ligature.
By the time police arrive his functions had released, resulting in a puddle of both solid and liquid waste on the already dirty floor below - combined with shallow adjoining pools of coral from his slit forearms.
Adding to the stench - the mold and mildew of the dank and derelict garage - rotting boards and what had to be several tiny, hidden vermin in various stages of decay.
In the living room, a navy blue and tan backpack is found on the couch. One of the officers looks inside to find a small handgun and a dark green school folder stuffed with stacks of notebook paper.
He thumbs through - they are filled with the erratic scribbling of scattered thoughts.
