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Weekly Contest #287
Her hands shook as she moved the cup from the microwave to the counter. The teabag bobbed on the surface of water that was not quite hot enough. Her breath came in staccato little gasps, not strong enough to take in the aroma. She would remember. She had to remember. The tea, it was his favorite. Wasn’t it? She darted a glance out the window, but no one was there. No one was ever there. The street was empty. Cracks streaked the pavement and spilled over with weeds. Of course, the weeds still grew. They made her nervous, the way they twisted ...
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