A Beautiful Poison

by Lydia Kang

Jasper had always wondered—was it still murder if you murdered yourself?

when we came back—” Birdie stopped, her mouth pursing into a knot, before gasping. “The door was open. Wide open and unlocked. She was by the door and sprawled out on the floor. She wasn’t breathing.”

When you were grieving and in despair, basic things were different, like actually responding to yes and no questions. How to eat. How to sleep. How to smile.

Her eyes welled with tears, because there was nothing more heartbreaking than seeing someone else shattering in front of you. It was all too familiar a feeling.

There were only so many pieces of your heart that could be damaged before it irrevocably changed you.

“Acceptissima semper, munera sunt, auctor quae pretiosa facit.” Mr. Rossi turned to Ernie for a translation. “It’s Ovid. The most acceptable gifts . . . are the ones made precious by our love of the giver.”