Milestones

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 son, or whether the stock market was a pig or a cow; some animal Shanti couldn’t remember. It was just her and Appa, an exclusive event.

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Madame Veronica

Kevin read the sign above the door again.

Madame Veronica: Clairvoyant and Psychic Healer.

It had been a year since the accident. His memory of that night was still sketchy. They’d been at the Andersons’ for dinner. Lars had been overgenerous with the wine, as usual. He’d argued with Gillian over who should drive home. Gillian had driven. No, he had. There was a deer. A tree. The hospital.

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Noir

Crimson splatters line the walls, crime scene tape girds the door. Shattered glass, a single lily, and pristine white shagpile carpet grace the floors.

He lifts the needle, abruptly silencing the Shostakovitch piano concerto.

Tipping back his trilby, he scratches his head. Who still uses a record player?

Image credit: SouthernRebel/pixabay

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