When he came back, he came back... wrong.
He looked the same, if observed superficially enough, but behind his eyes was a disturbing blankness. A lack of.... sympathy? Empathy? Whatever quality it is that allows one living person to connect meaningfully with another, he now lacked it, and in it's place was... nothing.
Were there enough of him left to wish, he'd wish for a merciful end. Instead, he lurched into the house where she, unknowingly, defenselessly, awaited him.
“How was work, honey?”
“You don't want to know.” He murmured, shoulders slumped, as he grabbed himself a beer...
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Good one. Nice sense of menace and mundanity.
ReplyDeleteGlad to see you still at it :) This one has great pacing
ReplyDeleteoh, always, Michelle, weekly rather than daily due to magazine submissions and trying to plot two books, but i'll never quit with the flash fiction :)
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