Whisper Me This

by Kerry Anne King

As in, the next of kin. The now-responsible party for a disaster so high on the clusterfuck scale there is no number sufficient to mark it.

Elle makes a shooing gesture at me with her hands, and I step out of the door and head upstairs, leaving pieces of myself behind all the way, like a trail of breadcrumbs.

I select my words with care, as if they are expensive items on display, and I can only afford a few.