Look What I Found

Cleaning out files this morning, getting rid of duplicates and finding stuff I forgot I wrote.  Took me all day; I’m obsessive about finishing what I start.  Not that I finish things; often as not I just obsess.  
I found the start of a story, maybe one I’ll get back to, and here it is.  There’s something eery about it, or there was at first reading-for me.  Tell me whether it’s there for you, okay?
 


Forcible Entry
 
Just out of frame, lower left, the black garbage pail rolls toward the river.  Upper right, its lid spins across the drive until it hits the new rose bush.  When it falls it crushes primroses.  I clutch my head, gag, breathe deep.  He's gone; won't come back; cannot; he's dead. 
Wait.  I zone back into the morning.  What has happened? 
Someone is dead.  Here, in the driveway. 
No.  My trash barrel is blue.  My rose vines upward ten feet.  I have never planted a primrose and never would; I dislike them. 
Rape has happened, and murder.  Force of the brute has happened.  You displace it.  You call him trash, rolling, falling into the river. 
Another consciousness has entered mine to proclaim my own violation.  And of course my vengeance.  Vengeance spun the lid of the garbage pail, the black one which hit the unreal little rose.  I stand in the spring sunrise waiting for its warmth.  It is slow to come; I smell the corpse.