The Wistful Petal

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2026-08-20 11:24:59 -

The Wistful Petal

The beer was warm. It tasted like copper and old pennies. I drank it anyway. My sister, Clara, sat across from me. Her fingers drummed on the table. *Tap. Tap. Tap.* The rhythm was fast. It matched my pulse. We were in the town hall. The lights were bright. Too bright. The air smelled of sweat and cheap cologne. "You're late," I said. I didn't sound angry. I sounded tired. "I was busy," Clara...

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