And so we set out, looking for Marcel.
He’d been last seen performing in a park, but when we combed the area no sign was found. Expanding the net, within hours the whole force was searching the streets for any sign.
The only lead was his bowler hat, found in an alley, smudges of white greasepaint still wet under it’s brim.
But he was never seen again.
Although we never found him, the experience made me a better detective. I devote myself completely to every case I take, if only in a desperate attempt to make up for lost mime…
Sunday, October 17, 2010
Labels: 100 words, Drabble, shitty puns, Short story
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