Short Stories

"The smell hit her first. Blood and something else underneath it. Something rotten. She noticed small crimson droplets on the floor. In the center of the living room lay Patches and Pierre. For one impossible second Susan couldn’t understand what she was seeing. The cat’s body twitched weakly beside a shattered end table, paws scraping uselessly against the floorboards."

The hall feels colder than it should, an impossibly long chamber with walls smooth and off-white, like aging eggshells. The floor offers no reflection, not even her shadow stands with her here. High above, the light hovers over her pale skin, bright enough to catch every quiver of her hands, yet too weak to reach the judge’s platform or jury box. Even the far corners give way to darkness—like a held breath, waiting. Dona walks down the aisle. She is small in stature, yet ever