7:43
It landed gently upon the faux marble tabletop which had been lightly soiled with spilt drops of iced tea. It stood planted, its antennae quivering in the warm breeze and its impossibly thin wings drawn tightly together as it scavenged the sugary remains.
The Regret of Death
My grandmother was diagnosed with late stage breast cancer over a year ago. For some reason, the late night phone call still came as a surprise. She’d been taken to the hospital, unable to move or speak through the haze of the morphine drip. I don’t know what her last words were, or what she felt as she passed. When my grandmother died, I was 8000 miles away and two years removed from the last time I had seen her.
