The Fortune of Death

The coffin was small enough for either of her uncles to carry by themselves. She sneaked a peek at her mother’s wet, twisted face, and her mother’s sunken eyes locked with hers. Somehow, they flickered with relief.

The little girl crimped her lips and dropped her head. She pulled her chin tight into her chest to stay the smirk tugging at her cheeks.

Finally, she thought, I’ve got my room back.

Published by Melinda

Melinda writes short stories to explore her obsession with the shades of grey and contradictions of being human.

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