Short Story Sunday: A Thousand Years

Lucy paused in the doorway of her apartment before entering. The door was slightly ajar and she could smell jasmine. It didn't seem as though the entry had been forced. She steeled herself and nudged the door with her foot. Had this been a horror film, she was sure it would have creaked on its hinges, but instead it swung wide until it bumped into the broom cabinet she'd installed behind it. On the carpet in front of her was a brown paper package. The red sealing wax looked liked blood stains on the string. 



"Hello?"

Short Story Sunday: The Space Between [Part One]

“That’s it. That’s all that’s left of him.”

I stared at the faded strip of photo paper which showed my great-aunt Rosa with her husband Fred. It was taken in a booth by the seaside in those lean years after World War I, when people clung to each other because everything else was expendable.

“What happened?”

“I don’t want to talk about it.”