By Emma Wilson
Every morning she woke at 5 o’clock. Like clockwork. In the winter months, when the nights were long, she would sit at her kitchen table and sip her tea to pass the long hours until daylight.
This morning, she cupped her tea in her hands, hoping it would warm her. Across the table sat another cup, half-empty, never again to be emptied or refilled.
Her clock had stopped at 5:35. The kitchen clock read 6:22. She was fine. The other her slumped in her chair. The one who was quite dead.
No hurry. She would wait for sunrise.
Wonderful little story. Gave me goosebumps.
Melancholy and lonely and beautifully written
beautiful!
That was different! Well conceived.
Weird and wonderful.
Beautiful and evocative. I read it three times. One of my all time favourite stories on here.
A GREAT REVEAL!
Wow, simple but very clever.