Who Killed Cock Robin?






© Rochelle Wisoff-Fields

The land wears the snow like a starched business shirt, crisp and bright. If writing a poem today, I’ll need more words for white.
Looking out the window, I follow the spiky tracks of a bird to a point up the garden where presumably it took flight.
But, wait a minute…other sinister tracks converge. Precise paw prints like Clubs on a suit of cards. There’s the serpentine drag of a tail, a hollow that held a crouch and a spray released with a spring.
Then a small speck of red; forensic evidence of the outcome.
The neighbour’s bloody cat again!

Written for Friday Fictioneers – a 100 words story based on a photo prompt. Hosted by Rochelle. Read the other entries here.