"Dad!" Amy called, pulling the screen door open and pushing the front door inward, and I followed her in.
There was an acrid smell in the air, unidentifiable but strong enough to make my eyes water. We walked across the cool tile floor of the living room past old-fashioned wicker furniture and bamboo blinds. That burning, choking smell was even stronger.
Something was sticking out of the half-open bathroom door. It was a man's foot, lying still, too still.
The Six Sentence Sunday writers for this weekend numbered 177 last time I checked. Lots of snippets and lots of fun at Six Sunday.