We were asked to write a short story, beginning with "the door swung open". I decided to take the extra challenge and made it exactly 200 words ending with "the door swung shut".
The door swung open and I was face to face with the man who killed my mother. He wore a grey suite with sheen, too expensive for the humble façade. Didn’t matter, I could see through him no matter what he was wearing.
Bartholomew, they called him, as he put his hand to the bible. He always hated that name but I was glad. I wouldn’t have to hear the childhood nickname I gave him. Bear.
A new rush of blood heated my face. My fingers went stiff and dropped my notebook. Leave it. I don’t want to miss a second.
“What was your relationship with the victim?” the Defence said.
Bear stared me down. Er, Bartholomew. Was he trying to scare me? I stared right back. This was the first we’d made eye contact since the police found us making out in the back of Bear’s Escalade.
Is that a tear on his face? That’s right Bear, milk it. “Well, I . . .”
The lead homicide detective burst through the door and stormed to the front. “Judge Spencer, we need to discuss-”
“Wait until recess,” the judge warned.
“We have a confession.” Slowly creaking, the door swung shut.