Thursday, September 9, 2010


For my last wish, I wished you back to me.

It’d been nearly a year since the funeral, but the time had done nothing. If anything, my life had fallen farther apart each passing day.

So I wished.

The Genie smiled, nodded, and told me my wish was granted, and that you’d be home by dusk.

So here I sit. With a bottle of the wine we drank the first weekend you came to town to see me, and cinnamon rolls from the place at the mall you’d always liked.

And a shotgun.


However it turns out, I’m ready.

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