The Last Party

by A.R. Torre

Thirty days has September April June and November I framed a Folcrum in December The next event all will remember

“Jenny . . .” I sighed and tried to think of something I could say, some sort of warning I could give. “When Jenny killed that bunny, she didn’t feel anything about it. When her mother died, when the girls died at that party . . . She’s empty inside. Like she missed the step in the process when that thing inside us, the thing that tells us what’s right and what’s wrong . . . like she didn’t get that piece.”