Clouds shift lazily, allowing the full moon to bathe the ruins in silver.
The two prostrate figures in the arena below me haven’t moved in almost an hour; I think it may be over.
I could scramble down to check, but I care less for confirmation than I do my new Louboutins.
I didn’t kill them, you understand… though I may well have ‘facilitated’ matters. An incautious word in someone’s ear…
Sharing facts isn’t a crime; not reporting a crime is.
I pull out my phone, as pebbles roll behind me.
I thought he’d left.
I need another plan… right now.
We’re having a run of beautiful Spring days here in Dorset. I hope you’re enjoying similar. Thanks to Rochelle, the leader of Friday Fictioneers for her continued efforts.