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Weekly Contest #128
Tea reminded Haley of death. Not the taste, she never touched the stuff. It was the cups. Those little handles, decorative and curled, almost impossible for Haley to fit a finger through. The saucers. The delicate pot. When she closed her eyes she could still see them shattered on the floor, grey water pooling in the white shards. The stylish man doubled over in his chair, eyes frozen. Haley was twenty-four. It was her first year on the force. Her partner Dean kicked in the door. Michael Brown had not shown up for work. His friends were c...
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