It started at the funeral of my sister. She had died of heart failure four days ago, and left behind her only child, Rosa. Rosa was holding my hand, crying, the tears streaming down her face, as she ought to.
I felt depressed, that I couldn't explain to her what had happened, I didn't know the functions of the body, and neither did a little child. However, Rosa blamed me, that because I couldn't explain, I was the one who had killed her mother. I explained to her, over and over again, that something wasn't right with her heart, but she blamed me.
But one day I had an idea.
I sat at my desk, and wrote an essay, more like a letter. I explained everything to Rosa,and how it had not been me. Then, I kicked back my chair, and felt release.
But the next day, Rosa was even more depressed.
What happened?
Submitted by @MrToasty
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Murder Riddles
RandomHighest Ranking #1 in Short Story... A collection of murder, theft, and other riddles. After reading these, you'll be able to say; it was Prof. Plum in the living room with the lead pipe. Do not try these at home! I have not made these up myself...
