No one knew what it meant. Ironic since the writing was literally on the wall.

One day everything was normal—everyone waa at work and all the kids were at school, et cetera. But someone wanted that to change.

A body was found a couple days ago and my team and I have yet to find anything. The body was shot and stabbed. I assume a few bullets to the chest and one to the head wasn’t cutting it.

The graffiti was only a mile from the scene. After some time, we interpreted it as READING. The victim was a teacher. An english teacher. What could they have done—corrected their grammar, gave them an F?

We checked all the nearby street cameras, but we couldnt find anything.

All we could do now was look for patterns…or wait.

——

Another victim. A librarian. Whoever this was must have hated literature.

Along with this victim was another graffiti site. This time, KILLS. Again, it was a mile from the murder site. Same way—same amount of shot, similar spots, and same stab wounds.

No pattern was noticed yet. More waiting.

——

More and more people were killed. Each one having something to do with the matter of literature. An editor, a publisher, et cetera and still no pattern. Graffiti was getting scarce. The first two made sense. READING. KILLS.

People were dropping one by one. No distance pattern or anything.

The graffiti was all we could use. And, now, that was going to be tricky. The only thing we could do was focus on that. The graffiti. As of late, we found blood in the paint.

The graffiti. It kept coming back to the graffiti…and no one knew why.