Write a story about an empty glass

The glass seemed to glisten in the light of the rising sun, sending rays of light off it its broken edge. The pool of dark red around it had stopped spreading hours earlier, but it had yet to be noticed. Derrick didn't notice the jagged champagne glass, and almost stepped on it. He sighed upon seeing it, and bent over, frowning. The party the night before had left quite the mess, but he and the help he had hired spent all night cleaning up spilt drinks and such. It was all cleaned up now, and he was making his ascent to his room, to collapse into bed.



"Steven!" Derrick yelled, "get your lazy behind over here, and clean... up..." His voice trailed off, and he sunk to his knees, burying his face in his hands, and beginning to sob. Steven, a short, old man with terrible eye-sight (and quite possibly Derrick's best friend) began limping towards Derrick.



"Derrick...? What's wrong?" he asked, his voice rasping.



"Clarissa..." Derrick moaned. "Clarissa, the blasted fool...!" His voice rose as he spoke. "I told not to come until this whole thing blew over...! I told her not to leave her home, not to open the door... but look at her...! She should have listened to me - she - she - "



"Derrick, is she dead?" Steven questioned, bluntly.



"Yes!" Derrick yelled. "No pulse! No breath!" Steven squinted, beginning to make out the form of the gentle actress, Clarissa. She was absolutely still, pale, and limp.



"There's no blood," Steven pointed out.



"Poison," Derrick answered, looking like he wanted to rip something - or someone - apart. "Someone poisoned her, Steven... can you imagine what she was thinking? All alone... out here... alone... alone... so alone..." Steven nodded grimly.



"Derrick, you'd best carry her inside and report her death," he said. Truthfully, Steven thought it looked more like Clarissa had just choked. Then again... her face was calm, her eyes were closed... it was a haunting sight, really, he realized. Her long, black hair framed her pale face. Normally, her eyes would be laughing, and Derrick would be whispering jokes in her ear... but she looked so still.



"Not death, Steven, you fool. It was a murder," Derrick said, with a dry sob. "She was murdered..."



"Her murder, then, Derrick, you sap. Carry her inside and report her murder." Derrick nodded, sliding his arms under her.



"Look, Steven... her arm... it's all cut up...!"



"She must have fallen on the glass, Derrick." Derrick nodded again, cradling her to his chest, as he went inside.

***

Days later, it was concluded that Clarissa, the upcoming actress, had indeed been murdered. Derrick gave the entire story to the press, or, at least what he could give - "It wasn't her fault," he said. "She just knew too much about the wrong things - about the wrong people." Derrick paused there, beginning to stare into the distance. "They knew she knew... you knew she knew... we all knew. But no one did anything - and now she's dead. I'll tell you now - " There was a loud, sudden sound, and Derrick gasped, clutching his chest as dark red spread through his shirt.

Shouts rang out through the crowd, as he fell to his knees, rasping something about the safe - the safe - the safe - the safe... then... everything slowly faded out, the shouts, the people, the pain.

A/N: Wow. That SUCKED. *giggles* I promise I'll do better next time. I switched time periods about three times, then settled on not talking abouit it. Then I got really tired less than half-way through... and my family's bein' crazy (teeth losing, barfing, watching TV, eating, drinking [alcohol]...)