A Simple Act of Plagiarism

Lisa stared into the fire as the edges of paper blackened and curled in the flames. She sighed with envy, remembering the confident strokes that filled up its lines. She tore another page out of the little black book and watched again as the flames took hold. Her face was grim but hopeful, the pages were the last of the evidence, an end to her problem. At least that is what she thought.

This morning she had the house to herself, her friend Tammy had recently taken up hiking and had left two days before. She was supposed to join her after she had completed her contest submission, wishful thinking. After several cups of coffee, the page on her laptop was still blank. Frustrated, she slammed down the lid, got up and stalked into the television room, sometimes mindless sitcoms soothed her frantic thoughts. Passing the kitchen bar, she reached for the remote and accidently knocked over Tammy’s messenger bag and out fell her book. Tammy carried the book with her everywhere, it was surprising she left it behind.

Curiosity getting the better of her she opened it and began to read Tammy’s notes. There was poetry, ideas for novels, television plot synopses, and blog posts scattered throughout. She also used its pages as a sort of diary; Tammy bemoaned her lack of talent, the book industry, and social media. What caught Lisa’s attention, however, was the short story. She could have entered it under Tammy’s name and used hers as co-author, but eyeing the $20,000 prize and her name in lights, she had typed up the story and submitted it online. She wasn’t a religious girl, but she said a quick apology to a higher power for her thievery. It was a just a simple act of plagiarism.

Now, after finally making it to the cabin she had relaxed, probably because Tammy had not yet arrived. She burned the last page, watching the beginning words that held her spell-bound disappear in smoke:

“The swollen body hung from the tree, slowly the hiking boot slid from the decaying foot and almost smacked her in the head.”

Lisa wiped her hands on her jeans, reached into her puffer vest pocket, and took the email confirming her triumph and urging her to claim her $20,000 prize. She had never had so much money in her life. Between her job as a fact checker and her student loans she was barely keeping her head above water. But winning the short story prize would be a new beginning to her life; she just knew it. She wondered that Tammy still had not appeared but wasn’t too concerned, timeliness was not at the top of Tammy’s list. She doused the now smoldering embers and retired to the cozy cabin to sleep.

When Lisa woke the next morning the chill almost kept her in bed, but she was invigorated by her recent win. She had an idea for a story that she wanted to flesh out and physical exercise was the best way to get her creative juices flowing. Dressed in jeans, flannel shirt, and boots she exited the cabin. The early morning sun greeted her with open arms. Skipping down the steps she headed towards the familiar walking trail.

The birds hailed her presence as she walked steadily along the path, using her walking stick to balance herself on the incline. After descending she stopped at her regular spot overlooking a majestic valley below. The wide-open space was full of trees and a peaceful stream and gave her a euphoric feeling; anything is possible.

She turned to retrace her steps and was almost brained by a falling branch, at least that is what she thought it was until she glanced in the direction it fell. It was a hiking boot covered by some oily-looking substance, dirt, and debris. Overcoming a feeling of dread, she looked at the nearest tree, her eyes moving from its tangled roots, up the moss-covered trunk and finally resting on the large overhanging branches. Her breath stopped as she spied hanging from a thick branch, the body of her best friend Tammy, missing a boot. She saw dried blood on the face, neck, and shirt of the corpse. As the branch creaked under its weight, she could not help but think of the words she read last night that she had so eagerly obliterated in the fire.

Now she was beginning to understand why Tammy’s prose emanated confidence. Her friend had made sure of her success by writing about a death scene and then creating it in real life. Briefly, she wondered if Tammy knew that Lisa would find the little black book and take credit for her work. She heard a large crack and stepped back quickly, watching in horror as the branch gave way and the body dropped to the earth. It was a rather brilliant scheme, write a story to titillate the masses, follow it up with a sensational real-world death and indelibly etch her name on the minds of readers worldwide. Unfortunately, there was a good chance that Lisa had unexpectedly added her own scandalous murder trial and death by lethal injection to the story. For last night she had destroyed her only evidence the brilliant idea wasn’t hers and the only proof she did not commit murder; somehow her act of plagiarism was no longer so simple.