Sheila thought there was something poetic about the earthquake happening as her husband packed his things, and drove off. He only just made it out of the driveway, before the earth opened up and swallowed him whole.

“Serves him right,” she found herself thinking, as she ran from the front widow to the doorway to the kitchen.

A few days later, the guilt of that thought settled in. Took up residence in the living room. Where the television and his chair used to be.

She kept to the edges. Inching along cracked walls, so that she didn’t step in it.

Prompt courtesy of the Daily Post.


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