The Reckoning
The coffee cup has long since gone cold in my hands, the porcelain now just a dock for my trembling fingers. The air between us is toxic, thick with years of unspoken truths, micro-tears fraying at the fabric of our existence.
"I need to know why," I say, my voice sharper than I intend.
He doesn’t answer immediately, just tilts his head slightly. Always slightly, like he’s posing for a portrait. Always silent, or more like dead, when it matters most.
Blindspot
“Did you know crows can carry a grudge for fifteen years?” Tom whispered, lifting his binoculars with a shaky hand.
“I believe it,” Daryl replied, eyes locked on the nest wedged high in the crook of an old oak. “Smart birds.”
“If you save one, though, it’ll never forget. Might even bring you gifts.”
The two men inched closer, boots careful on moss-soft ground. In the branches, the mother owl stiffened, her yellow eyes sharp and unblinking. Three downy owlets peeked from behind her, fragile but alive.