A Fiction in 58 for you fine folks

Missing Raymond
Brandy-for-breakfast seemed like a good idea when sleep would not come. A little nightcap, she’d suppose, would club her body into submission.
Half a bottle gone, she was awake and piss-drunk. She sat in the dew-covered Adirondack, wrapped in the down comforter she drug off the bed.
The flannel shirt was his, from a time before the cancer.

2 comments:

J.C. Montgomery said...

You continue to amaze me in wonderful ways...

:)

Jason said...

I love, "piss drunk..." It is so forceful... Plus... who hasn't been. That is a tragic little story and I like it.