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Weekly Contest #320
Dead birds. Detective Varo had worked hundreds of cases in his lifetime, but this was the first time he had received a call so peculiar. Dead fucking birds. He lit a cigarette, cupping the flame against the razored cold, drew once, then slid the lighter back into his coat. He inhaled, smoke filling his lungs, that familiar feeling of light-headedness flooding his mind. As he exhaled, he pushed himself off the hood of his car. “Alia, found anything new?” Varo asked his colleague as he approached her. He ran his free hand through his iron-gray...
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