This is one of my first published Flash Stories.
My friend drew the picture to go along with it.
And yes, it really happened. I don’t have to make stuff up!
Emma had forgotten to buy beer for Fred for the last time. “Bam!” A bullet rushed through the barrel of the gun and hit Emma in the face.
Neighbors confessed that they often heard Fred and Emma arguing, but they decided to mind their own business.
But my father was the one who cleaned the mess off the walls. You see, my parents owned the apartment building. It was their business.
And my mother was the one who wrote the classified ad for the newspaper.
I was the one who explained to callers, “Yes, it’s a one-bedroom apartment. FRESHLY PAINTED.”