Sunday, June 8, 2014

An Unpublished Labor of Hercules

Milk Wood

“Tell me,” the detective uttered.
“I don’t know, sir… She was already dead,” whispered the beggar.
“What? Speak up, man.”
The beggar got closer and whispered a bit more.
As always, the detective stroked his mustache pensively. The beggar did have a point. The victim bore a remarkable resemblance to that writer, something Christa, Christine.
“She was just there...I almost tripped.”
The detective tried talking to the local police, but they went around, scratching their heads, not knowing what to think or say.
“We are doomed,” he mumbled.
It became obvious that now the darn thing would never be finished.


  1. oh you whet the appetite here Lizzie!! no fair!

    1. Haha! This idea of the characters finding out that their writer has been murdered and that the book will never be published is rather silly, but quite fun to play with. I must do a bit of researching and see if someone else had the same idea to see how they dealt with it!