When firemen arrived to douse the church-blaze, Froggy hid in the bushes, semi-automatic shouldered. He took out a veteran pump operator, two rookies wrestling a charged hose, and a pregnant Action News camerawoman. Dozens of blood-soaked Sabbath observers scrambled for cover.
The D-student who’d ‘kept to himself’ left no note.
Was he radicalized? Bi-polar? Bullied? Neo-conservative? Ultra-progressive? Was his impending two-year proselytizing mission for the Mormon Church a factor?
Froggy’s impossibly beautiful twin sister declined interviews. So too his father whose undelivered sermon ‘There Are Worse Things Than Dying’ reached motorists in title only from a roadside marquee knee-deep in flowers.
Some very powerful words, John. You have a winner here!
Bobby! You’re the most generous person I’ve ever crossed paths with in cyberspace — always reaching out, always supportive and kind with your comments, a careful reader, a true ally to flash fiction writers everywhere. Thank you sir!