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Weekly Contest #354
Mrs. Rosemary Bennet lived life like a ghost. Seeing without being seen. Speaking without being heard. Her fingers left no fingerprints.Tick, tock, said the clock. Your time is up.Smiling strangers came and went, leaving their fingerprints on her favourite teacups—the ones with the queen’s picture.She had children once. Perhaps even grandchildren. Now, unfamiliar faces adorned her fireplace, calling out to her at night.Long ago, she had a mother. A young woman cradling Rose like a ragdoll in yellowed pictures. She died when the house collaps...
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