Flash fiction: “What did he do?”

What was happening? He asked himself as he walked down the street. What had he done?

None knew. None wanted to know. He didn’t want to know.

The building had been fine when he left. It couldn’t have been him. How could it have been him?

None should have been in there after he locked up, why where are they saying that people had been found.

What was going on?

He didn’t want to look at the news. He knew that he would be the first one police would talk to. But it wasn’t his fault. He hadn’t done anything.

The place was fine when he left.

He was now close to his apartment. What was he going to do? Should he go and turn himself in and hope that they find something which will exonerate him? Or should he just lock himself in his apartment and wait for them to arrive?

He chose to do the second thing and opened his door, locking it behind him the second he was through it.

In the distance, he could hear the sirens.

It wasn’t his fault. The place had been fine when he left.

He hadn’t caused the fire.

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