Short Story: The Real Culprit
“It wasn’t me,” he protested.
She pointed at the glaring icing remnants around his mouth. “Then what’s that?”
“Blood. Your real culprit is over there.” He pointed to a boy with a streak of brown at the corner of his mouth and crumbs all over his clothes.
“Oh. Then, what’s with the blood?”
He shuffled under her gaze.
“I… had a messy meal?”
“What are you? A vampire?”
He choke-laughed. “Of course not. Vampires aren’t real, right?”
He smiled, showing his even canines that almost shone in the sunlight.
“Right,” she agreed.