Dear Mr. S. Harris,
Ignore the blob of red in the top left corner. It’s jam, not blood, though I don’t think I need to tell you the difference. It wasn’t your wife’s jam the police found on your shoe. […]
I know what it’s like.
Mine wasn’t a woman. Mind was a boy. And I killed him three months ago exactly.
- Ketchup Clouds | Annabel Pitcher