David Chan’s mother was relieved to hear Denise might be all right. She confirmed Denise had started practicing Daoism.
Chan drove deep into Nu‘uanu. The temple was simple, empty, but he could hear someone playing music. He turned the corner. The music stopped.
An older monk stood looking at him, a thick wooden flute in one hand at her side.
“Welcome,” she said. “Can I help you?”
“Hello, my name’s David Chan. I understand my sister Denise attends temple here. I’m looking for her.”
She looked Chan up and down, fingering the flute. “Why?”
“Well, she was having some trouble. I thought she might come here. I wanted to tell her everything’s okay.”
The woman still looked at Chan as if she were sizing him up.
“We don’t allow guns,” she said.
“I, how did you, well, yes, I’m with the police.”
She approached, held out her hand. “I’ll return it when you leave.”
“I’m sorry, I can’t just hand over my gun.”
“Then I’m afraid I can’t help you.”
Chan passed her his revolver.
* * * * *
Aloha #WriterSaturday, I hope all is well. Today’s #WritingPrompt is
Use it to inspire a piece of writing, and then post that piece on your site and link back to me, or simply leave it as a comment below. I would love to read what you write : )