The chief asked what the story was.
I looked around the crime scene. “An intruder. The mother walked in to check on her son and saw someone standing over the crib, holding a pillow to the kid’s face. She screamed and the guy ran out.”
“She get a description this time?”
“The same funny clothes. And she said there was an odd smell in the air. Like ozone.”
“That’s what, three times in six months?”
“Four,” I said. “Someone has it in bad for that kid.”
The chief shrugged. “I can’t figure it, either. They’re such good people, the Hitlers.”
A 100 Word Short Fiction Every Monday
Did I ask you for your love
Did I ask you for your dedication
I don’t want, I don’t want your love.
I don’t want, I don’t want your affection
But I’ve got to have the car
I need it for the weekend
(via iTunes shuffle play)