From Below

by Darcy Coates

Lipstick. The sheer everyday banality of that stung. This must have been the lady’s favorite shade. She’d kept it close to wear through the voyage and so she could look good when they docked. And while digging through the luggage on her last day on earth, she’d picked it up and then discarded it again. The cap was off. Maybe even in the stress and helplessness of those last hours, she’d applied a final coat, clinging to the routines that felt familiar enough to be safe.

Trapped with the squirming corpses on the boiler room floor, he’d been ready to give up. A few more seconds would have been enough for him to undo the knot and allow himself to be pulled ever deeper into the endless silty floor. He would have breathed his last there, clasped in a deathly embrace that would never ever let him go. He’d believed he was finished. But apparently, Vanna wasn’t ready to give up on him yet.