For this writing slam we used the word I suggested last week but did not use and promptly forgot about. We gave ourselves 10 minutes to write as much as we could about the word Silhouette. In reality we had 11 minutes, but don’t spread it around okay?
Why? That was the one question that private eye Harvey Bloomfield could not figure out. Sure, he was not having much luck with the other common questions, but that one was sticking out in his mind. Why?
When? That question wasn’t a problem, considering the complexity others. It was last night, one am.
Where? Another easy one. Outside O’Finningans, his long time favourite club.
Who? Well, that one was obvious. Her. The singer on the piano in the eveningwear with the gloves that almost went past her shoulders. The woman from last night that had started this whole debacle. The woman that in the end had evaporated in a flash of mist after the gunshots rang out.
What? Harvey wasn’t fully aware of what this answer had really meant, but he did know it, thanks to the hoodlums that had fired the Tommy-guns before she had vanished. She was Silhouette, that was either her name, or it was what she was, something dark and mysterious, but yet something that had needed him. Needed his help.
How? Harvey didn’t really know, but he had used his detective reasoning and had settled sometime ago on the only possible explanation. Witch’s magic. It is what made the most sense considering the events of last night.
Why? That was the question he could not figure out.