@mortregem
She’d returned home for the death of her grandmother, and held the woman’s hand until dawn broke. Incidentally the same moment her old heart finally ceased to beat.
Her mother was not there to clean up and call the various people who greased the wheels of the modern machine of death and grieving. So Valerie did it all, making calls, keeping her grandmother’s cats away from the body. Etcetera.
But this time when she entered the room with the body she noticed something odd. The bright threads signifying her grandmother’s life were dull, fluttering untethered things now. She’d expected that. But not the something reaching for them. Barely seen. Twilight fingertips.
Death, perhaps?
“If you’re there I’d be happy to put on the tea for you,” she said. And without a trace of self-consciousness. “I imagine no one leaves milk and cookies out for you.”
