Officer Vernon pushed open the door with the eraser end of his eternally sharpened pencil. The smell of vomit hit him square.
Campus security said she passed on that Tuesday before Christmas. They think. Could have been that Wednesday too. Or even Christmas Eve. They weren’t completely sure.
The only thing they were sure of was suicide. Even campus security couldn’t miss an empty prescription pill bottle or the nearly drained fifth of cheap vodka.
Vernon opened the dorm room window, the frigid Michigan air a welcome visitor.
Now came the hard part: the inbound parents.
What can one say?
The Weekday One Hundred 