The Wistful Dinner
The first thing you do is count the stitches. You sit on the edge of the narrow cot in the clerk’s quarters, the air thick with the smell of damp wool and stale tallow, and you count the torn seams in the lining of your father’s coat. One, two, three. You count them because if you stop counting, the ring will start whispering again, and you cannot afford to hear it. It is a small sound, like a...
0 Comments 0 Shares 1 Views 0 Reviews