She sat in the cabin listening to the cracking and crackling window. Soon enough the windows would shatter and shutter.  No need to pretend that the pain was both real and surreal.  And so was the duality of life. A rose dripping in blood would be the only way to stop the cracks from widening and taking over. She would just rock in her chair until either the dead came knocking or the summer rolled back around. She had her shotgun, her television was on mute and her eyes were wide open for now.  There will be a time when her eyes will forceably close but even then the zombies will just get her dust. Bite me, she kept whispering.

rochelle Wisoff-Fields