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She watched them lower the casket into the ground. The metallic bronze finish was dulled by the overcast day. She knew she would feel horrible, lost and alone if the situation were real. If that were really who everyone thought…
Of course she didn’t do it; she knew she didn’t do anything illegal. The point was convincing them she didn’t do it. How was that possible? They wrongly assumed her guilt. Guilty until proven innocent. It was unjust; how could…
And I’ll treat it exactly like the others: preserve the period voice and only correct actual problems. In total, she’d made it twenty-three years, six months and fifteen days. Still, hope eluded her. She emptied another bedpan into the dilapidated…
Sylvia locked the bathroom door, but didn’t know why she bothered. She plopped down on the closed commode and listened to the rush of two voices outside. “I didn’t know she’d come home,” her husband apologized. “Well, you better next…
Oh, why not write these things down? Why not, I say? For what is real and what is not? I am suspended over what my doctor calls the “dream-reality haze.” Isn’t that convenient? After all, what would anyone that’s crazy…
