I noticed her by the pond one night. The sickly tree an echo of what she was — pale, thin, and barely there. Then, she’s gone. A figment, a trick of shadows.
At the window, another glimpse. A flick of flashlight shone on her form, her eyes and mouth sunken holes. The light beam trembles and drifts from her. I catch myself, turning it back to her faint, now headless form.
The light searches.
There, bare feet.
The beam makes an upward sweep.
She stares up at me then fades.
Yet lingers still.
YOU ARE READING
bit·ter·sweet: being at once bitter and sweet; especially: pleasant but including or marked by elements of suffering or regret. A collection of short stories I've written since joining Wattpad for various contests, challenges and publications. The...