Short Story: Diana's Mirror

He couldn't get their last meeting out of his head. She'd sat opposite him, cupping the empty mug of chai which had scented the air with cinnamon, weeping. She'd made no sound, but the rivulets on her cheeks made his heart ache. He didn't know what to say, so he kept rambling about the unfairness of it all and how she deserved better than the hand she'd been dealt. 

Short Story Sunday: Latchberry Farm

 

The breeze carried the scent of the forest into Sasha’s bedroom. The curtains billowed against the sash window, seeming to resist the fragrance of greenery after the rain. Sasha’s reverie was interrupted by the weight of Fred, the Golden Retriever, landing on her bed.