The Stories I Could Tell
Prompt words in red.
Black stories, depressing
tales of narrow alleys and small bleak basements that suffer for want of sunlight.
Where walls are damp and thick, close, with voices
The narrow passageway is crisscrossed with yellow crime scene tape, the investigation continues, detectives hold out empty promises and hope, but there hasn’t been a promising lead since the morning after the blood splatter was found on the cold, slick stone wall.
The blood was just to throw them off, muddy the waters, so to speak, or bloody the waters in this case. "This case"… I love my double meaning; it tickles me to be so clever. I could have been an author instead of what I am.
Yes, the stories I could tell.
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