It was the morning after the night before
Three bullet holes were embedded in the dress.
Strangely there was no blood on the floor
You don’t need to be an expert to guess the rest.

Because the event did not happen, it was all a dream
A dream produced solely inside the her head.
Things were not how they planned to be or seem
The future therefore is not real and definitely not dead.

He slithered into the room with a pipe hanging from his mouth
A stuck on pair of mutton chops and a green check cape
She hid behind a newspaper laughing unable to speak
Hatching a cunning plan from which to escape.

“So my dear, what were you dreaming last night.”
He was puffing awkwardly on his pipe.
I suggest I heard a scream just on when it became light
And you were muttering on about a blood type.

“Murderer” he shouted, and then slapped his hand across his lips.
Regretting his choice of word he quickly said “moody aren’t we
He fiddled with his watch chain swinging it to and fro
She tried to squint at him she could hardly focus let alone see.

He now was confused, slung off the cape which was getting hot
That was because it burst into flames from ash from the pipe
Which promptly landed on something he wished had not
It was a mess and needed more than just quick wipe.

However the newspaper she was holding went up in smoke
She heard the crash of a saucepan and its lid.
Thinking what now has he broke
Not realising he had fled and hid.

Now can you guess the rest?