Ollie, Ollie Officer
“Stop, Police!” Officer Ollie shrieked with a quick hop.
Bewildered, the cyclist removed his helmet revealing curly brown locks. He looked around frantically for the source of the crime before resting his eyes on the tiny officer in his crinkled blue uniform, with a police cap crooked on his egg-shaped head and a comically stern look on his face.
“What’s the problem, Officer,” the cyclist suppressed a smile, “has my bike been vandalized?”
“YOU are the problem, sir!” The officer’s small body squirmed with rage, “You’ve littered and contributed to the trash vandalism of this beautiful city you ride through,” Officer Ollie’s voice squeaked, too high with the last few words.
“What? I nev-”
The cyclist stopped short as his eyes fell upon a single strand of blue thread; he’d pulled it from his jacket and tossed it into the breeze moments before, hardly thinking.
He rolled his eyes in anguish, hanging his head.
“That’s right,” Officer Ollie chided. “Now you see, don’t you?”
The cyclist thew up his hands with a groan, glowering back down at the string like a school boy caught on his way out the door to an adventure. “What’s the fine, officer?” he muttered.
“Fine?” Office Ollie chuckled. “Fine?! Sir, pick up your trash and, if you’re a decent fellow, remove the next three pieces of trash you see in the street as well. Take your string, and be on your way now.”
And with that, the officer tipped his crooked hat, straightened his wrinkled shirt, and spun on his heel in haste, determined to put an end to crime in this town he cherished.
Author note: this is the start of playing with a new style and the beginning of a new series I may someday turn into comics.
For my husband.
Future Good Cop.