Madelief

‘Promise I’ll be there this time.’ The quiet on the other side churns my stomach. I stare at the pocketbook on my lap, a watercolour frog dressed in red on the cover. ‘I bought you a present.’ I imagine her in a hospital gown, dull eyed, when she sighs. ‘Miss you.' @cbcreative.bsky.social #writecbc

The window closes with a stubborn thud, but the faint breeze of rotten wood continues to play with the tips of my hair. I leave the prints of elongated hands and fingers on the glass, turning to Millie when she gives a sharp bark as the bedroom door slowly opens. #writecbc @cbcreative.bsky.social

#WriteCBC

She's a ghost in the faint light of the sickle moon. Her doe eyes reflect the moss stuck to her cheeks. Her bruised lip trembles, as do her frail white fingers, dirty nails clutching around the hem of a torn salmon dress. She smells of roses and blood. I cannot let her in. Yet.