Where There’s Smoke
A deaf woman retells her partial witness
I fidgeted with my soot-stained jersey, rustling the silver space blanket on my shoulders.
The Psych officer handed me a cup of coffee and gave me a thumbs up.
I managed a weak smile.
“So what happened?” said the Detective’s lips.
“I smelt the smoke.”
“Ah huh.”
“I was heading this way, but I couldn’t see nothing.”
He nodded, his trilby bobbing up and down.
“Then a smell like burned plastic and… ”
I trailed off as the knife of memory twisted in my stomach.
“What?” he looked up.
“It smelled like a barbecue.”
He didn’t write that down.
A story in response to our weekly prompt: Follow Your Nose
It’s part of a longer story, a Mini Novella in Flash. Each week I’ll add another piece until the final story reveals what has happened when the end is in sight.