[ WP ] At the crime scene of a gruesome murder , there is classical music playing .

A door hangs ajar in an all too empty house. Out of the door pours a sound. A steady building and rising of music, cello and flute and horn. 
 
 The sounds reach me where I stand over the body of Anne. My shoes are still in the slowly, spreading pool of crimson. I sway slightly to the sounds from the other room. 
 
 Anne always hated when I played classical music while she was trying to watch TV. 
 
 She just never gave it a chance. 
 
 The music, now reaching it's crescendo, has a new accompaniment. Sirens. 
 
 I bend over Anne's still body and kiss her cooling, soft cheek. I place the knife on the floor beside her body and step out of her pooled blood. 
 
 The sirens grow louder but I so desperately want to hear the music till the end. I take another step, making a foot print on the smooth tile floor. And another. And another. 
 Crimson footprints. On Anne's white tiled floor. 
 
 My world is slow motion now as the music crashes around me and the sirens come to a halt outside on the street. 
 
 I run.
