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Trigger Warning: Discussion of death Mr. Gringott sat on his front porch, rocking back and forth in his wooden chair. He held a small book in his hands—either a grill’s instruction manual or an album of his photos with his late wife (there was not an in-between)—but his eyes were closed, his head tilted back as he tried to get a Sunday afternoon nap. He was still wearing his fancy church clothes: a blazer and slacks. Just as he was drifting off, a brilliant light burst behind his eyelids. Mr. Gringott’s eyes flew open, but no matte...
Submitted to Contest #285
“You do know the world’s about to end, right?” Steph says, her eyes wild and wide, as I flip through the most recent fashion magazine. I scoff, cocking an eyebrow. I meet my little half-sister’s blue gaze and watch as she pulls her unruly, coiled black hair back into a ponytail. There’s one stray piece that hangs down over her left eye like always. “Oh, please. Don’t tell me you believe in that stuff.” ”Evie,” she says, sitting next to me on the couch, “maybe the world ending is an exaggeration. But…” She huffs. “We don’t know what will happ...
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