A small screeching came from the corner of the laundry room, behind the row of dryers. A mouse struggled in a trap of glue, dying next to dead kin.

A week earlier: Ash Wednesday. I asked forgiveness as I crushed a spider in the bath.

The week after that: book club argued was the narrator a sociopath.

Then that mouse, pleading, stuck. Not giving up.

Foolish, pledging to abstain from killing things for forty days.

No comments: