Coming into the kitchen, I could see she had searched my room.
Bits of incriminating evidence were scattered over the surfaces, each item carefully placed on appropriately sized portions of paper towel, as if allowing these things to touch anything in her kitchen would spin the world into wacky space beyond normal, around-the-axis spinning.
I wanted to explain, but I couldn’t, so I let her point and catalog and glare.
“Garlic?” she asked. “Dynamite? A yo-yo?”
We gazed at each other.
“I defended you,” she said. Each word shattered on the floor. “You will give it back. Every. Thing.”
For more stories prompted by this image, visit Madison Woods and explore the rest of the Friday Fictioneers!