Some Murder Stories by students

Murder story
PABLO MONTEAGUDO
4°3

Mr. Cornfeld had always been very rude to his wife Gloria.
They had been married for ten years, and Gloria couldn’t remember a single happy moment in all that time. Gloria had married him because of his money; Mr. Cornfeld had married her because of her beauty. The day after their wedding night, ten years before, something terrible happened. The couple suffered a car crash and Gloria’s beautiful face was horribly disfigured. After he learned his wife’s face couldn’t be restored, Mr. Cornfeld wanted a divorce, but Gloria didn’t accept. He asked for the divorce again and again, but she would never say yes. That’s why he hated her so much. But Gloria hated him even more, and she couldn’t wait for the inheritance she would receive, in case her husband promptly died...
About two years before, Gloria had traveled to Haiti and other Caribbean islands in order to find medical support that might help to restore her face. She didn’t find anyone who could help her, but while being there she learnt a few things about the voodoo, which was practiced by the local natives.
Voodoo rites could be able to cause a person’s death; the only elements needed were a small dummy made of wax, and a piece of the victim’s hair or fingernails. Then, you set fire to the dummy and...
Gloria was convinced all this could really work out; it would be a perfect murder. There would be neither clues nor evidence, and all her husband’s money would go to her hands.
She prepared the little wax dummy one afternoon, while her husband, she thought, was not home. She was worryingly thinking about how to get a hair or fingernail from her husband when the latter suddenly entered the room and saw the dummy.
“What in the name of God’s this thing?” he rudely asked.
Mr. Cornfeld was a very sceptical man and didn’t believe in those things, so Gloria told him the truth. She was not surprised to see he laughed in her face.
“And do you really believe in all this mumbo-jumbo?” he asked. Gloria suddenly had an idea and replied:
“Yes, of course I do! And I could kill you right now if I wanted to. All you have to do is bring me a piece of your hair or fingernails and I’ll show you!”
“All right,” Cornfeld said. “We’ll see”
He went to the bathroom and returned with a piece of hair in his hand. Gloria carefully put the hair into the wax dummy and anxiously set fire to it; her husband would be dead in a few seconds. As she was thinking this, she began feeling uneasy, like burning inside her own body, and in a few seconds more, she was lying dead on the floor.
Mr. Cornfeld was quite surprised, as he had thought such things were not possible, but they seemingly were. He was also surprised at the fact his wife always forgot to clean her hair brush.


Murder Story
ANDRES PROAÑO
4°3ra

Life. In a moment I realize there are things that are not me, and in that moment, I realize I am, and there are others who are not me and I am not them. And with that realization, comes a rush of knowledge, and then it stops. The tools with which I percieve the world are taken from me. I know nothing more. Nothing more, except that I am before others and I must make them know what I know. And this is what I know:
There was a world where everyone lived and died in a continuous cycle. And whenever someone died, those near that person mourned, because they were reminded of their inevitable death and because they lost things shared or deposited in that one who was no more. And so, with pain comes a thirst for revenge. And because of this thirst, whenever someone’s death was caused by another, all those who suffered sought for the death-giver to be undone. Because of the chaos and vicious cycles this produced, the whole of all gave power to an institution that acted as a pacifier and decided, through investigation, when one was truly responsible of the death of another and delivered justice.
In this world, there were two who were equally superior to the rest but had interests opposite to one another. This one walked showing oneself openly to all, working for the interests of what one thought was right, not for what was more convenient for one. This one was the hero.
The other one walked hidden in the anonymity that the great numbers of others provided and behind a façade of normality. This one worked for the interests of oneself, not for those of others or any beliefs. This one was the rival.
There was another one who was given death by the rival, and the rival received benefits because of this one’s death. This one was the victim.
The rival and the hero raged an intelectual battle in this world, where all others were inferior and could do nothing but watch helplessly.
The pacifiers could not understand all the mistakes caused by the rival, because he was superior to them in thought, and so he managed to evade their investigation. But since the hero was on the same level as the rival, he managed to understand the mistakes left behind, and worked out his identity and culpability. And so he made it known to the pacifiers who the rival was, and the pacifiers delivered justice.
This is the only world I know, and I vicariously enjoy sharing this knowledge to all I can.
This is my existence.