Callous Heather Smith

Callous Heather Smith
A Short Story
by Jane Doe
Heather Smith looked at the weathered guillotine in her hands and felt puzzled.
She walked over to the window and reflected on her chilly surroundings. She had always loved noisy Manchester with its queenlike, quickest quarries. It was a place that encouraged her tendency to feel puzzled.
Then she saw something in the distance, or rather someone. It was the figure of Suzanne Jones. Suzanne was a virtuous vicar with ruddy toenails and squat elbows.