Tuesday, 1 November 2016

Whitewashed tomb

She picked up the pencil and placed the blunt tip on the left side of her chest. She watched it move up and down as her chest rose and fell, rose and fell. In the count of three, she would plunge it into her dirty closet. She would clean up the cobwebs, the dry bones and the rotting bodies. One, two...

A knock on the door stops her in her tracks. She drops the pencil, picks up her bible and goes to greet the visitor.

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