by Gloria Mindock
He murdered A this afternoon so now many words don’t exist. I have no way of communicating anymore but neither do you. It was a hot afternoon. The sun is making us all sweat. Only one fraction of A was found in a pile of blood. Too red to pick up. Some on the police force barfed. Did I tell you I have police in my family? The Italian Mafia wanted to kill them. They were smarter, kept guns in the cellar. In a small town like this everyone knows everyone’s business. Somewhere someone had binoculars and was watching. Rumors spread around about who did it. Turns out it was C. They were wrong. C laughed as he was arrested. Curved himself backwards and stabbed a police officer in the throat. After this, no one could ever speak again.