55 word fiction: Me and my best friend

It was twilight. Standing at the edge of terrace, I wept. It had been 7 days that my best friend had died.

Rohit and me, once inseparable, were now a world apart.

A cold breath behind pulled me from my thoughts. I turned. I got his fleeting glimpse before Rohit’s hand gave me a shove.

55 word fiction: The case of the dead men

My lifeless eyes may no longer be as sharp as my little grey cells, but the tall, lean man who rose from the grave was unmistakably him.

I glided over. He shook the hands that I offered with a hint of vanity.

“So we finally meet, monsieur Holmes,” I bowed. “I am Poirot. Hercule Poirot.”