Cider

“They say it’s all in my head. But it isn’t,” the wind bullies her words. “I know the truth.” She slides another pill into her mouth and drowns it in cheap cider. She shudders and wipes tears away. “He’ll get away with it all.” She’s not alone. Doug sits by her side on the bench. He’s seen it all, the shadow lands. The in-between. “Where’s the truth,” she asks. He shrugs. “I’m going to get him. I’m going to make him suffer. ”

He takes her hand, holds on, stares at the wrinkles on her fingers. Age, longing, wanting, it turns you inside out. She knows. He does. “I hate him. I hate him for being happy.” Her voice crumbles into sobs. “It’s not fair.”


Chris Leonard