The Writer Sees Red

I couldn’t hear what the man was saying, and I cursed lividly.

There were subtitles floating across the screen.

I think my eyeballs practically burnt.

Raine Hirsch, son of the late Peter Hirsch, roaring business tycoon, went missing approximately a week ago.

His whereabouts remain unknown as of yet – call 555 – 6171 if you see him.

To be honest, at that moment, I felt like sinking to my knees and crying my eyes out : I don’t really know why – maybe because he lied?

Well, he didn’t technically lie. He just kept everything secret. What do you call that?

I had a good mind to go back to the house and smack that arrogant idiot senseless, but I did the opposite.

I marched in the direction of the hospital, muttering under my breath, my speech becoming colorful with a crescendo of curses.

“Bum!” I growled, clenching my fist.

“You’ll get it when I come home – you really will!”

Steeling my nerves, I opened the door of the Dunshaughlin Fever hospital and strode inside.

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