Story hunt

“I give up”. Sylvia is gasping for oxygen, as she throws her shoes to settle down in the grass.

She fails to notice my ashen face. The witch hunt has led us to monstrous insights.

I came hunting for a story, but reality stares back at me – mercilessly, silently. The killer has left a clue behind.

I can’t  believe it’s the same person who shares a bed, home and hearth with me.

And then, I look at Sylvia. She has pulled out a gun aimed at me.

“You asked for it. Now get ready to go where your partner did.”

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Friday Fictioneers