This is it, there's no turning back. But his mind rambles, he fidgets, distracted. He thinks of her words, they ring in his ear. He tries to shake it off, concentrate on the task at hand. In the end, he can't pull the pin. Her words echo, you can't commit.
Roger the Cat was a highly skilled forensic analyst and moved about in tiny blue plastic bootees, examining, observing, collating and calculating. A tall human committed this crime, he concluded, with facial hair and dirty fingernails. His work done, Roger left, but not before leaving a tiny trace of himself.
via Daily Prompt: Farce The orange faced buffoon centre stage, gesticulates, his fingers point, effeminately. In the background, bit players, lackeys and yea-sayers smile, grovel and fawn while, in the foreground, uniformed bullies beat the undergrowth. 'Is this a farce?' asks a bemused onlooker. 'Oh no, it's real,' he's told.