Friday, 11 September 2015

What was meant to be a thing about writing but isn't


“So when was it that you first met Phillip Rogers?”

“Never met him. Ever”

“Miss Ellen there is multiple pieces of evidence to suggest others wise”

“Prove it”

Almost instantly, a glossy photo slides across the table. In it are two people;  A blonde, twenty something year old girl and a slightly overweight man. The picture was presumably taken by a speeding camera as the two people are racing past in a red Mercedes, caught in the middle of a scream. The overweight man’s gullet is almost flapping across his collar, pushed down by a gaping mouth. The blonde girl is clinging to the glove box handle, and despite the picture being in black and white, her heavily applied blush is still noticeable. A skinny finger points to the blonde girl

“Is this you Miss Ellen?”

“No, looks nothing like me”

A collective sigh can be heard from behind the two way mirror. The officer pointing towards Miss Ellen in the photo rolls his eyes and looks towards the mirror, giving it a ‘could you be any less professional’ look.

“Miss Ellen I don’t mean to question your intelligence, or your eye sight, but the woman in the picture matches your facial structure perfectly. Not to mention the fact that you were caught in this very car twelve hours later”

“Prove it”

The officer’s face turns crimson red “I just did Fucking prove it to you! There couldn’t be any more evidence right now proving it’s you

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