You sob, cradling a limb, the greatest piece of what’s left of your loved ones, their blood painting your once dusty monocolor fence crimson. The murder weapon, a rusty machete, lies embedded deep within a plank of your pristine deck, carefully cleaned of prints.
When the police arrive, there is only one suspect, and the trial is as short as the sentence is long.
Finger Curls
You sob, cradling a limb, the greatest piece of what’s left of your loved ones, their blood painting your once dusty monocolor fence crimson. The murder weapon, a rusty machete, lies embedded deep within a plank of your pristine deck, carefully cleaned of prints.
When the police arrive, there is only one suspect, and the trial is as short as the sentence is long.