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oroburos69Written for the Mentalist Prompt Comm. 100 words.
It’s raining.
She is dead.
Thunder.
She’s terrified, screaming for aid, for succor.
Lightning.
He offers her a ride; just saw her on the side of the road. Too wet to walk, he says, laughing.
Thick gun grey clouds, painting the sky.
She can walk, it’s only a couple of blocks.
The horizon is dark, tall clouds rising.
School let out early. Mom isn’t picking up.
Clean blue sky.
“Don’t touch that.”
The words are belated and half-hearted. They’ve grown used to his idiosyncrasies.
He drops the ragged fabric on her ragged body.
He knows who killed her.
Smile, Smile.
