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24 Hours
by Darlene Holt
24 hours.
That’s how much time we had. Do what you please, they said. Make the most of it.
So I did.
I slashed my husband’s throat for the affair he had two years ago with the nanny.
My newspaper-stealing bastard neighbor never saw my Glock 26 coming.
My creepy, womanizing landlord took six blows to the head with my Brooklyn Crusher.
The fire’s still raging at the lavish estate of my greedy, embezzling boss.
24 hours.
That’s how long I’ve been in police custody.
But I wouldn’t have done it, had I known.
Because the damn meteor never hit.
Red Cape Publishing 