The Wistful Dinner
The soup is still warm when the glass shatters. It is a small thing, a simple pane of window looking out onto the gray, rain-slicked street, but the sound it makes is a sharp, violent crack that snaps the air in the room. You freeze, your spoon hovering in the bowl, the steam rising in thin, ghostly ribbons that curl and vanish. Your friend, Elias, is sitting across from you in the dim,...
0 Kommentare 0 Geteilt 1 Ansichten 0 Bewertungen