[ WP ] Write a murder from the perspective of a cheerful inanimate object

I guess you could say I've seen things - travelled the world and all that - and so I suppose I should be grateful that it was he who bought me, who chose me as his favourite; that he always wears such smart things for his best and most thrilling jobs, and me. I sit close against soft weaves and heavy fabrics, fancy buttons sometimes - and I'm his constant. It's mostly the same to me, though. I ride along half-nestled in silk, smooth and languid and unhurried; a room in a nice hotel, measured rise and slow fall; someone else - another man, and in a beautiful suit, usually; perhaps a start, or the beginnings of a pink mouth open to wail. Bang, bang. The patterns, when they come, are a lovely red. I'd ache for a silk with colour like that. 
 
 We leave, more quickly, after. I know because I count the time. It wo n't be long before I'm gone again, put away with his other killing things. The times in between are long, but these days are worth it. I spend the darkness remembering the silk, the weave. Bang, bang - the colours. Bang, bang. That's my constant.
