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Estimated reading time — 8 minutes

William Grant is wandering through the avenues of Florence, Italy with his beautiful girlfriend named Isabella. They giggle to each other softly and secretly, passing under the ancient arches and crumbling cathedrals of the narrow and romantic street. They exchange passionate kisses and sly glances, and all passersby who see them think wistfully of springtime romances and sweet lavender. William Grant thinks that he could never be happier.

And then his alarm goes off.

Will grunts and swings his arm around in the general direction of the snooze button of his alarm clock, only succeeding in ceasing the siren after knocking virtually everything else off of his bed stand. “Five minutes, please,” he begs the clock. He wants to return to Italy, to Isabella. He’s only met her the previous night, but already he finds himself dreaming about her. I’ve really gone and done it this time, he thinks ruefully to himself. A hopeless romantic, Will has had extremely short but passionate flings with women ever since he was 26, and he is now 28. Two years of hopeless loves and losses. But all that changed last night, with Isabella. She was so different from Opal and Sally, who he’d tried out the previous week, with disappointing results. He’s already nearly forgotten about them, and only remembers their names and faces with extreme concentration.


Will, reconciled to his fate, swings out of his bed and trundles towards his shower, only to realize halfway through the shower that his alarm is still sounding. He has to quickly wrap a towel around his midsection, run in, and unplug the damn thing. He can only pray that he didn’t get anything too wet, but of course he does (his favorite leather shoes, which are lying on the floor and still stained with blood). “Oh, no,” he mutters, looking at his now-ruined footwear. He’ll have to get new ones somehow; they were a part of his “romance suit”, as he calls it. He doesn’t feel comfortable around women without his romance suit on or nearby. He also never wears it out on his day-to-day business, since he feels that doing so will spoil whatever mysterious charm his romance suit possesses.

Will stands staring at the ruined shoes for approximately thirty minutes, dead to the world, until the bong of the clock tower outside brings him out of his stupor. Chuckling to himself over how upset he had gotten over a silly pair of shoes, he finishes his shower and brushes his teeth, singing, ” That’s Amore” to himself loudly and out of tune.

Fully awake now, Will practically dances down the stairs to his kitchen, eager to see the object of his affection once more. He schmaltzes into the kitchen, adopting a Humphrey Bogart voice, and cries out, “Schweetheart! I’ve mished ya. C’mere and gimme a kish!”

Lost in the throes of love, Will dreamily opens the fridge and takes out Isabella (or what is left of her). He begins to hum a waltz, kissing Isabella periodically between the notes. “Listen, baby; it’s our song. Shall we dance? Silence is acquiescence, my dear. What’s that? You’d love to? Oh, DARLING!” He swings her about in an elegant and passionate two-step, spilling congealed blood all over the kitchen. He knows he will have to clean it up later, but it’s worth it to spend quality time with his “best girl”, as he affectionately calls her. Just as he had called Opal and Sally.

After their dance is over, Will delicately places Isabella back into her cubby in the fridge, and grabs the milk from behind her ear. He then shuts the fridge door, but not before whispering, “I’ll be back soon, darling,” into his beloveds ear. Humming his beautiful waltz loudly, Will pours himself a bowl of Lucky Charms. As always, he goes immediately for the marshmallows. He simply can’t control his instincts most of the time. His overwhelming desire for sugar overshadows all rational thought in his mind, and he devours the marshmallows like a rabid dog. Afterwards, he stirs the remaining, not-marshmallowy bits reflectively. Today he has work, and that means pretending. He doesn’t want to have to pretend, but he knows that it is what people do. It is a part of them. As much a part of them as breathing and sleeping. As much a part of them as love is a part of him. So he gulps the rest of his sugary milk, kisses Isabella goodbye with promises to return soon, and departs for work.

At work, the local law firm, Will sits in his cubicle, thinking only of Isabella and seeing her again. He turns his body on autopilot, as he often does when he wants to be alone in his head, and begins to fantasize about Isabella. His eyes see faces and names (Mary, Peter, Ash, all of his coworkers) and his mouth takes care of the niceties (smiles, smirks at off-color jokes, short greetings), but his mind is free from contamination from other influences. His hands even do the work for him, typing out endless forms and data analyses, so that he can remain focused. Whatever else we may say about William Grant, we may say that he is focused on what he wants.


5:00! Work is over. In his head, Will has practically worked himself into a frenzy thinking of all that he and Isabella are going to do together. He skips out of his cubicle and smiles at each and every one of his fellow employees, who smile back with genuine affection. After all, he is the friendliest fellow in the workroom. Unbeknownst to Will, his bosses are discussing giving him a raise. His work is always impeccable and meticulous, and his attitude is so refreshing. He might even be managerial status.

Will, however, couldn’t care less about all of this. Right now, he wants to go out and buy himself and Isabella a nice bottle of wine. Perhaps some pineapples too (which are his favorite fruit, and thus Isabella’s as well; those two do everything together!).

Will goes straight for the best wine in the store (nothing’s too good for his girl) and jovially dunks it into the bottom of his cart. He then strolls over to the pineapples, picking two at random and plopping them into his cart alongside the Pinot Noire. Isabella will be so surprised and happy, he thinks to himself, and smiles a smile so warm and intimate that a woman across the aisle from him can’t help but wish that her boyfriend was that crazy about her, to smile so widely.

He waits in the checkout line, his body once more on autopilot. Faces become a pointless blur to him. Until, that is, a loud plonk captures his attention. He stirs from his stupor and looks… into the eyes of the most beautiful girl he has ever seen.

“I’m so sorry. I dropped your pineapple!” exclaims the clerk regretfully.

“That’s quite all right, um…” he looks at her nametag in rapture. Jenny. “…Jenny. I’ll just go get another.”

“No, I’ll do it.”


Jenny rushes off into the hustle and bustle of the produce section, unaware of Will staring blissfully after her. He has already forgotten about Isabella. She’s the past. His future is with Jenny. It’s all so clear now, he thinks.

His fellow shoppers nudge each other slyly, observing Will’s lovestricken stare, his soft and longing eyes. Wouldn’t it be cute if they remember that this is how they first met later on, they whisper to each other in ecstasies of temporary gossip. By the time they proceed to the checkout, they will have forgotten this little incident entirely.

Will dreamily accepts his replacement pineapple, pays with a check, and walks out of the store with a new mission. He has already filed away her voice in his brain. He’ll never forget it. He doesn’t think he can if he tried.

“Jenny…” he whispers to himself, and blushes a deep crimson.

“Jenny Grant…” At this, Will’s face practically lights on fire. His lungs temporarily stop working, and his heart stops beating, to relish the sense, the feel, of this beautiful sound.

Miraculously, Will’s trance-like drive home ends without an accusation of DUI or an accidental manslaughter. He sings “That’s Amore” loudly and out of tune to himself as he rushes as quickly as he can to his computer. He methodically scavenges Facebook for over 2 hours, looking at every possible Jennifer that lives in his town. He eventually comes up with a Jennifer Carta, a Jennifer Takane, a Jennifer Smith, and a Jennifer Gutierrez and copies down the address of each. Unfortunately, none of these girls had posted their phone numbers online. No matter. Where there’s a will, there’s a way, and Will definitely has a will: love. Never in his life can he remember being so in love as he is right now. He feels as though his heart is turning cartwheels in his chest.

Will scours his phonebook for another hour and calls each Jennifer posing as a representative of the Government conducting a survey. Between calls he absentmindedly turns the TV on and off, unaware of what he is doing. In the snatches of time that the TV is on, it announces that the police are searching for a girl named Sally McManning. It says nothing about a connection between her case and the Opal Knick case.


When Will speaks with Jennifer Carta, his fourth and final Jennifer, his heart nearly bursts with joy. It’s her! It’s his baby! Her voice! Like melted chocolate and marshmallows and lilies-of-the-valley all rolled into one! Will withdraws into his mind to dream about all the times he and Jenny (he wants to call her Jenny almost as much as he wants to run his fingers through her smooth, chestnut hair) will share, and his mouth again takes over. Will’s body asks Jennifer if she would please take a government survey regarding proposition 40, Jennifer replies no politely but firmly and hangs up on Will’s body before it can have a chance to pester her further.

The groceries lay long forgotten on the kitchen table as Will meticulously cleans his house in preparation for Jenny’s beauty to grace it with an appearance. He mops the kitchen floor, faintly stained with rusty blood marks. He changes the sheets, which are more like sponges now due to all the blood they have absorbed. He washes his favorite knife, which he then slips lovingly into his pocket. For later. Lastly, Will cleans out his refrigerator. He winces slightly as an unsavory odor wafts into his nose, but does what he has to and disposes of the leftovers (Isabella’s very existence has already been deleted in Will’s mind). At last, his house is as a palace, ready to receive his best girl!

Now all Will has to do is prepare himself for Jenny. This is a very important step, as any boy on his first date with the girl of his dreams will tell you. First, Will combs his hair. He knows that it has to be just right, and is almost too excited to hold the comb straight. It takes three attempts until Will is satisfied. Next, Will puts on cologne and shaves. There’s nothing to shave (he shaved last night for Isabella, and nothing would grow back so soon), but Will has to be sure. Lastly, Will assembles his romance suit. Smooth black leather jacket, his gray T-shirt, his favorite pair of black chinos, his black ski mask, and his black leather shoes. Shoes. Will suddenly remembers that his favorite leather shoes are currently unwearable. What can he do? He’s never gone out to see a girl without his romance suit! Will stands stock still, his mind in crisis. He can’t go and see Jenny without his shoes!

Will ponders his dilemma for half an hour, standing motionless in deep thought, his face slack and his eyes glazed. A fly lands on his forehead and ambles about absently for two minutes before flying off to seek greener pastures. A tiny droplet of drool inches out of the corner of his mouth and hangs in stasis. After much internal deliberation, his eyes regain their glow of flaming passion. If Jenny loves him as much as he loves her (and she very much does; there is no doubt whatsoever of this in Will’s mind), then she won’t mind the incompletion of his romance suit. How could she?

Will’s face lights up in a blaze of emotion. He feels the gravity of the moment, the freedom he now possesses, the confidence he now has. Love looks not with the eyes, but with the mind, said Shakespeare, and Will cannot agree more. Love has triumphed this warm Tuesday night!

Having doffed his tattered white Vans, Will slips quietly out of his front door. He feels the soft, cool air and marvels at the thought that somewhere Jenny is feeling the exact same breezy kiss. He thinks to himself, I will have to remember this Tuesday as the happiest day of my life. The day I met Jenny. Smiling deeply, he begins to skip to Jenny’s house, humming a sweet and sensuous waltz to himself the whole way.

Credit To – DoubleOhDevin

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Copyright Statement: Unless explicitly stated, all stories published on are the property of (and under copyright to) their respective authors, and may not be narrated or performed under any circumstance.

29 thoughts on “Tuesday”

  1. Not entirely terrible. There are some grammatical and sentence structure errors along with miss spellings and a few misused words; i.e. (Doffed) means to remove. (Donned) meaning to put on, I think, might have been what you were looking for. Unless he went out without shoes on, which begs the question how he hasn’t been apprehended as of yet. The over use of the names isn’t needed either. However, If this was from the perspective of a diary or journal entry of the killer, it could work. Hard to forget Will has a girl named Isabella stuffed into his fridge after projecting the waltz as well as you did.

    I agree with the others on one major point, don’t reveal too much too soon (the killer). From what you’ve written you seem good at drawing attention and hooking with your story, just need a bit of polishing to shine.

  2. It was good! However I can’t help but wonder if the people who writes these have the same desires. Heh

  3. Thank you!!!!

    Ahhh umm I’m sorry I hate to be a stickler for details but serial killers are kind of my thing and that isn’t Ted Bundy who did that, it’s Ed Kemper….sorry…!

  4. Really thought there was gonna be a twist ending where Jenny was also a murderer and decided to off Will. Both funny and dark – very enjoyable

  5. jeff vs slendy heck yeah

    haha but it kindda reminds me of “Dear Abby” because he was so obssed with the girl

  6. I think a little more subtlety could have polished this and made it that much creepier. That being said, this still managed to keep me on the edge of my seat and disturbed throughout. I very much enjoyed this pasta.

  7. Absolutely loved it!

    Throughout the story i could actually view from the perspective of the killer rather than being a victim and i think that more stories should have this ingenuity.

    What it lacked though was the shock that horror stories often came with, like maybe he was stuck in a fantasy of his own where his past girlfriend was still alive to him though and take her out of the refridgerator was like visiting her room. You couldve contrasted the perception of his reality and the actual reality or something along those lines.

    Loved it but if you had done something alone those lines it wouldve been absolutely, down right frightening because of the difference in sanity of the serial killer and us as an audience

  8. I really liked this one. i thought it truly captured the shattered and demented mind of a homicidal killer. The obsession with his victims the need for them. That he even believed ‘they’ loved him back i think was genius. This story may not have been very scary. But to me it seemed very real. And i really liked it. 10/10

  9. I REALLY liked this one. I don’t think it’s right that everyone seems to be voting it low. It perfectly captures a mind of a homicidal killer. The obsession. The need. That this man feels these women Need him as desprately as he needs them. I give whomever wrote this a 10/10. Maybe it’s not the scariest story, but it rang true to me. And that’s what mattered.

  10. *shudders*
    most pasta’s I have read as of late are getting too far into the unrealistic. This one however is completely possible, making it all the freakier.

    I also want to give you Kudos on the excellent job of showing us into the mind of the mentaly unstable. It was well written and shows incredible insight into the psyche of a Psychopath.

  11. My first impression was that this pasta was the portrait of a stalker; it’s a stalkerpasta, sure, but the plot is mainly conveyed through character details: the way he dresses, the way he goes about work; a majority of the piece is a character study.

    Will as a character is a perfect mess: he embodies the pasta’s theme of ‘dark innocence’. His whimsy is borne out of psychopathy, his passion out of murderous obsession – in the end, this cocktail of contradictions, coupled with the carefree tone of the narrative, served to underline his creepy nature better than any splatterfest could.

    I loved the way the pasta goes about painting a picture of him, dropping small details and implications, always placing one dissonant detail but swamping it with doses of ‘normality’: the knife, the hockey mask, the bloodied shoes coupled beside the suit and the day job. All suggest an outwardly well-adjusted, normal person; inside, bubbling with twisted psychopathy.

    That said, I thought much of this pasta lacked subtlety. The structure of each little reveal is rather formulaic, and the fact that he is a serial killer is repeatedly jammed into the reader’s face (the corpse-dancing scene struck me as egregious in this).

    The plot was rather simple and uneventful ultimately, like a sustained note, as a result of the narrative’s character study focus. It manages to slip a few commentaries on the dark ends of love: ultimately, we can’t outwardly tell if it’s love or obsession, not to mention detailing how easy it is to stalk an average person.

    Overall, an interestingly twisted character narrative. 7.5/10

    1. This comment/critique was written better than the actual story. Bravo to you, sir.

      That being said, I thought the character was quite interesting. The detail in which the author describes him and his everyday life is spectacular. Unfortunately the plot is a bit uninspired in my opinion. It starts on a particular path and never strays. It’s very bland and predictable but the author has obvious talent. I hope he or she continues to refine their craft and I see more from then in the future.

  12. Vivica Halliwell

    I liked this story, but had a few problems with it.
    Mentioning the shoes were covered in blood. I feel like you gave away the serial killed far too easily. I think if you made it seem as if Isabella were alive, or Will was still in the fantasy it would have worked.
    The descriptions were very good and I enjoyed Will’s character. But felt the waltzing was trying too hard. A little less corny singing and a bit more grounding in reality might balance it out.

    1. well considereing ted bundy used to eat breakfast and talk with the severed head of his mother….a little waltz is not that abstract. Many serial killers did FAR worse.
      dressing them up and batheing them for days on end untill the smell got to strong
      driving around with them in the car saying they were asleep….
      in reality the waltz is not that far out there, It shows the deapth that his psychopathy went do and just how demented his delusions were.

      1. Ahhh umm I’m sorry I hate to be a stickler for details but serial killers are kind of my thing and that isn’t Ted Bundy who did that, it’s Ed Kemper….sorry…!

  13. Hm this story was rather…dark in a way.It set u a good story with some cliche scenes but overall It wasn’t too bad.It sorta reminded me of ted bundy,seeing as they shared similar traits.This story was well in it’s delivery,but it seemed to lack,how do you say, pazzaz.It could have been better no doubt but delivered a god enough story that at least proves to be better than the one before…interesting to say the least…7/10

  14. I loved this.

    In a Creative Writing class I also wrote about a killer that pretends during everyday life. I found this to be a wonderful read. Keep up the good work.

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