What Would God Do?

It wasn’t the sort of night that inspires a person to fight crime or go dancing. It was a night perfectly suited to a soft blanket and a warm mug of hot chocolate. The crickets had run out of things to say. The television was a comforting but unobtrusive mumble. The fridge had stopped doing that weird humming thing that hopefully didn’t mean there was something wrong with it.

‘What do you think of Brandon?’ said Dianne.

‘I think he’s great,’ said Russell.

‘Well, obviously. But what do you actually think of him, as a person?’

‘Why are you asking this?’

‘I’ve been giving it a lot of thought lately, and I’ve come to the realisation that I just don’t like him. He’s clingy, abrasive, insensitive. He never says thank you.’

‘He’s our son.’ (more…)


His Own Rules

The police station buzzed with the white noise of justice in action. And the bored scribbling of paperwork in, if not action, then reluctant motion. The sound flooded the police captain’s office as the door swung open, and then returned to a dull mumbling as the door clicked shut.

‘You wanted to see me, captain,’ said Detective Bevan Shootout.

‘Take a seat,’ said the police captain.

Bevan did so. ‘Is this about the jazz litterer case? Because I’ve almost cracked it.’

‘In a way it is, yes. In a way it’s about all your cases. I’m afraid we’re going to have to let you go.’ (more…)