I've seen how everyone looks at you; it's the way they once looked at me. It's not that I've grown ugly; it's just that you're new to the neighborhood.
New.
Different.
Certainly not any more beautiful than I (still) am.
I'm not worried. I've learned from the past. I don't need to be shown anyone's heart, and the only oven in my future is the one I work at, while whistling a happy tune.
After all, what could be more friendly than to invite you over for a chat over a cup of coffee and a slice of homemade apple pie?
to go hunt down demons?
No, to start the ritual sacrifice. With pie.
Good one, Jilli! Now, that is spooky.
Jilli, that rocks!
these aren't fic drabbles
I thought the drabbles could be anything on the topic? What are the rules?
What are the rules?
You don't talk about Fight Club--wait, different rules. I thought we were fairly rule-free around here, myself.
It was actually conceived as a non-fandom weekly drabble: [link]
Steph, did you get an email from me about next week. There's no rush, of course, what with the next week and all, but I just realized I may have sent it to the wrong email.
It was actually conceived as a non-fandom weekly drabble
Yep, that's what I thought, as well. Fic has its very own topic.
"A Cup of Coffee and a Piece of Pie"
The house is emptying out, the last goodbyes called softly in deference to grief. I barely acknowledge them, but I’m allowed to check out today. It’s my right as the widow.
The kitchen is littered with paper plates, the remains of casseroles, coffee cakes. I haven’t touched them. I’ve barely moved since we returned from the grave.
My daughter asks, “Do you want to lie down?”
I shake my head. I want to end the day the way we did together for the last twenty-five years. With a cup of coffee and a piece of pie. From now on, alone.
