4.18.2013

211 of 365

She heard the car on the gravel outside. Her gloved hands froze, clinging to the soapy glass. She waited, her eyes transfixed on the stream of water from the faucet splashing onto the porcelain before vanishing down the drain. When the car door closed, her heart skipped. Then there were footsteps on the front porch and the doorbell rang. The glass slipped from her fingers and shattered in the sink.

No comments:

Post a Comment

Compliment, critique, conceive, create...you know the drill. Thanks for stopping by and saying hello.