Alora's Windsong
For a little while, it felt like any other December afternoon — warm lights, cinnamon air, laughter echoing from every store, packages in both hands.
Beth took Storm to the game store and got quarters. He loves the motorcycle one, he rides with her. At the same time, I shopped for his gifts.
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Bram sat at the table, drink in hand, as he watched TV in his lifeless, cluttered home.
His phone buzzed with a text message, “It is done.” His smile was deliberate and wicked as he read the message, it was too easy.
“I don't need the fucking counsil to get to them.” He smiled, sipping his mixed drink.
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