My flash fiction for the Kobo/Jeffery Archer writing contest – 100 max

 

Warm, tacky blood coats my hands. How did it get there? And why am I on the porch? Clenching my hands, the blood oozes out to drip-drip onto the bare wood deck. I frown. Janie will be upset that I marred it.

Huh…Where is Janie? It’s near dark. Shouldn’t she be home by now? Turning, I see her through the screen door. She’s lying face down in the middle of our living room. My stomach lurches.

“Janie?”

She doesn’t move.

I don’t either as I remember where I dropped the knife.

I should hide it before I call the police.


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