Music surges through the speakers. Salt-N-Pepa tell us to push it, and I survey the sea of shocked faces. Not really funeral fare, Mum. ‘No sombre music, Gillian.’ Yes, Mum. No sombre music. But you could have at least let me warn folks.
Sunita tucked a strand of hair behind her ear. If only she could tuck her scattered emotions so neatly away. This was the first time she’d been alone since Rajiv’s Commanding Officer had called. The C.O. had spoken quietly, calmly. She wondered what it was about death that forced a stillness on everything.
John re-read the note, wondering if he’d overstepped. Thanks for the hospitality. I had a hard time sleeping, so I did some investigating. Lo and behold! I found a dried chickpea under my mattress. I can’t believe you tested me! Penelope P.S. Calling yourself a real “Prince” is creepy. Click the YeahWrite Microprose #356 badge […]
Shanti wound her window down and inhaled the fumes. She loved these late-night gas station runs with Appa. It was their time together. No Amma worrying over money, or which Aunty had insulted her this week. No Anna, pretending to be older than his years, trying to impress Appa by discussing politics like a good […]
Karti scrubbed with grim determination. It was tougher than she’d thought to get blood out of carpet, and she was sure someone in the building had already called the cops. Even with Marron doped up on tranqs, she’d had a hell of a time muffling his screams. Someone must have heard.
Night enters, rudely awakening fear while light peeks tentatively from other rooms. Fate reaches for the one match still housed within its book, lone survivor of smoking years. Phosphorus flowers into flame, snatching at the candle. Vanquished, darkness slinks away.