by Walt Staples -
The pointed end of the chipping hammer made a “chink” sound as the chip spalled off the plastisheet. The mouth above the hammer smiled. Perfect. All that was necessary was to set the trap and wait for routine to takes its course.
Fools! Think no one knows? I know. Just do what comes natural, and the problem’s solved. A sigh. So sad. The cosmos will weep. But tears are easy after what you’ve put me through.
The tools were collected and the incriminating chip was picked up. A watch was consulted. By the pricking of my thumbs, something dead this way comes. The lights came down. The last sound was a door dilating, then closing.