A Short Story Of Crooked Systems And Broken Bones

Forced down the hallway

Lights flickering at every step

My wrists sway

in the clutches of the officers at my side

Turning right, I’m shoved towards a table

into a seat feeling deathly cold

A man in a black man suit asks if I’m able

to answer questions. He is so warm

with a gleaming smile on his face

he seems to have

my same salivatating taste

for the truth

“Stephen, what happened in that house?”

he asks me presently

“We came upon arrival young mother with a bloody child upon her blouse.”

A pause. “You were downstairs, yet claimed to hear nothing?”

“I know nothing.” I begin to say.

“I heard a scream and dashed upstairs, to find her already gone.”

“To say this was me, there is no way!”

But the white suited man rose a grizzled hand.

“Then how did Tricie die, there was no one else.”

“You are the only possible suspect.”

“Spare me the lies. Stop trying to protect yourself.”

“Think of the memory of your wife, Stephen.”

“I’m still thinking about her this very second!”

“Tricie was my wife, my eyes, and my beating heart!”

“Your accusations will not lessen…”

“even the faintest memory of her, written on my hand.”

“Please don’t speak of the memory of my wife.”

“You only know signatures and suited thieves.”

“And fame, and for your work, a pretty price.”

“My Tricie was priceless.”

The man left me alone

shuffling his feet out the door

leaving me to wish of a home

where Tricie would be

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