A quiet haze fills the room. Mom’s voice is soft, her face dim. Goosebumps cover my arms as she walks me through the deafening silence to the big leather chair and draws me in. It’s cold and I don’t want to look at her. It’s all wrong. I stare at the floor watching the roach scurry across the painted wood like it has no care in the world. Her breath burns the back of my neck as the painful words enter my head, “Grandma’s gone”. A rush of heat climbs my spine from my belly to my eyes as the tears fall forth….So this is death?
©NicholeDonjè
