[ wp ] The first line of your story must include 'and I caught him with , of all things , a fishing pole ' .

``... And I caught him with, of all things, a fishing pole'', Patrolman Marky laughed, leaning against the coffee machine at the precinct. 
 
 `` Shit,'' said the man with him, who's name Marky could n't quite remember, though they had been working together for years, `` Ca n't believe it. Twenty yards from a murder, did n't hear a damn thing...'' 
 
 `` Did n't hear a damn thing,'' he echoed, `` The bastard got away too. All because this guy was digging through his tackle box, shutting out everything else.'' Marky shook his head, `` and you know what the ringer is?'' 
 
 `` What's that?'' a gurgling reply came. 
 
 Marky paid it no attention, `` guy did n't even have a tackle box with him!'' 
 
 `` That so?'' 
 
 `` That's so,'' Patrolman Marky refilled his mug from the water cooler he leaned against. `` I guess its for the best though.'' He was careful not to look up, just focused in on the water coming out of the machine. 
 
 `` Why is that?'' 
 
 Marky leaned against the water cooler again, feeling the gentle thumping of bubbles reaching the surface, `` can you imagine what it would've been like? To see that.'' 
 
 Gurgling. 
 
 `` No, I did n't see it,'' he muttered to himself. `` Thank God, I did n't see it. I could n't even bring myself to look at the damn coroner's report.'' 
 
 `` Why?'' 
 
 `` Why what?'' he asked, looking deep into the murky water in his coffee cup. 
 
 `` Why?'' 
 
 Marky's hand twitched briefly, `` why what?'' 
 
 `` Why did n't you do anything?'' the voice grew louder, more shrill with every syllable. 
 
 `` What could I do?'' he said bashfully. 
 
 `` Why?'' 
 
 He did n't respond. 
 
 `` Why?'' 
 
 Marky pushed off against the tree he was leaning against. Setting his cup down on a nearby stump, `` I do n't know.'' 
 
 `` *Why? *'' 
 
 `` I ca n't. I could n't save her,'' he replied, reaching for the ground. 
 
 `` **Why? **'' 
 
 Crying, he tied a fisherman's knot to the end of his line. The little jig he used for Crappie fishing, his favorite lure, sitting idle on the ground beside him. 
 
 The water nearby splashed. Maybe fifteen yards away, no more than twenty at most. 
 
 He leaned against a tree, eyes bloodshot. He pulled out the knot and began to retie it. 
 
 The thrashing continued. He could make out a word or two in the distance, echoing across the pristine wilderness around the lake. 
 
 Tears started to come down his face; one or two at a time. Reaching up with his other hand, he wiped them away. His hand came back an oozing red. 
 
 `` Why?'' came a cry from the commotion he refused to look at, `` why would you do this?'' The voice spoke to no one. As long as Rookie Marky did n't look, the voice was talking to no one. 
 
 He finally tied the knot he was proud of. The red tears continued to fall down his face, staining the white carpet around him. 
 
 `` Why?'' came one final cry before the commotion stopped. 
 
 Marky replied to it this time, eyes closed, `` because I could n't'', and jumped from the mahogany chair in his living room, was caught by the neck with the rope hanging from the light fixture the landlady had called'a major selling point', and remained hanging until found six days later, by no one in particular.
