Curtains
She teetered on the stool to hang them. She reached. The stool tipped. She hit her head and they fluttered down, draped over her. Curtains.
She teetered on the stool to hang them. She reached. The stool tipped. She hit her head and they fluttered down, draped over her. Curtains.
He had existed for thousands of years; had been a doctor, a soldier, a teacher. A better man than I. In the end, I couldn’t drive the stake.
He. She. They. Bliss. Boredom. Betrayal. Court papers. Custody hearings. Canceled visitations. Restraining order. Father’s fury. Shotgun.
His body washed ashore weeks later. She had seen him only once – tossing his life jacket to her. She didn’t know his name – only his heart.
A druid led his son into a henge. ‘Days shorten. The sun is ailing,’ he said. ‘Can we heal it?’ asked the boy. The druid raised a knife.
“Go ahead,” Marcie whispered. Ben watched Sheila blush. The two women waited. “And take off the ring, Ben. I’ve been dead a long time.”