Sam Westcott

The Road Not Taken

“I didn’t kill your mother! You stupid bastard I wasn’t even there.” “You were going to interview her, your employer even said you left to do it.!” John Calson was bald and sweating. His head looked like a ball. Mike Smith the accused murderer and journalist for the West Crumpton Post felt sick looking at it. It looked like the inside of a melon, just less delicious.