Note: from time to time I release older material which I think is worthy of viewing. This will all be tagged under the ‘From the Vaults’ category and will be clearly titled as such. This is a short piece I wrote whilst at university; although titled as a ‘sketch’ it was always written in prose form.
The police station was an old building. Not especially old, but not exactly what one would call a modern facility. It had been standing there for forty years. The building was made of red brick, with a sign that said ‘police’ by the front entrance and windows placed, rather expertly, on the walls. It looked, as one would expect, like a police station. At the precise moment this scene was being painted there was also a man standing outside looking at the station with a strange look on his face. He walked into the police station, and up to the desk.
“Hello,” he said to the officer at the desk, “I’d like to turn myself in.”
“Oh yes, sir?” responded the officer, “and what crime is it you’ve committed?”
“Arson,” came the reply.
“Okay,” said the officer, now taking down notes. “And where did you commit this crime?”
“Not far away,” said the man.
Oh great, thought the officer, this is gonna be a long day. “Would you care to elaborate on where you committed this crime?” he said out loud. He was not aware of any recent suspicious fires, and obviously wanted to know as much as possible about this man’s crime.
“I didn’t do much,” said the man. “I just set fire to a building, is all.”
“Which building, sir?”
“Yes, this one. You might want to call the fire brigade.”