By R.G.G.
Gertrude was a lady of class. You could tell by the way she sat, with her back straight in her rocking chair and hands folded neatly in her lap. Rewardingly, she would tip her head back at an angle and laugh while recalling her memories.
Her last day, I strolled into her room and instantly knew something was wrong. She was dressed impeccably, as usual, but she was missing her pearls.
“Honey.” She pointed to her necklace that she had no energy to grab. I hooked it around her neck. “Now, I am ready.”
Gertrude was always a lady of class.
Chilling. Reminds me of an Alfred Hitchcock story or movie. Nice, understated horror story.
Very nice work. Her dignity is clear.
I knew her, but her name was Beatrice at the time.
Good imagery. Pearls… the finishing touch.