The
first victim had her neck snapped. We found cornflakes in her shoes. The second
was wrapped in old-style cellophane: so crisp it could not fail to crackle whenever
we touched her; from unwrapping to removing the oatmeal to swabbing her lips
for the perp’s signatures of milk and sugar.
The
Squad has a book running at a hundred dollars a…go. What will the third pun be:
someone’s dear old dad or hit songs or the British CSI who says it’s slang for a soda?
The
manipulable press had no difficulty nicknaming the killer.
I
love the clever ones. They’re…great.
3 comments:
I feel sorry for the victims, but can't help but smile at the story itself, an unusual and (IMO) amusing story. :)
At least the killer knows what the most important meal of the day is. Fun flash.
Oh poor victims! Fun story ^_^
Post a Comment