Thank you as always to Rochelle for providing Friday Fictioneers!
We knew her barely, the woman who died in townhouse 104.
People spread rumors, gossip. Even if you’re not a part of it, you hear.
She was a lesbian, a mother who aborted, a drug user, an alcoholic, a tattooed artist. She was abused. She abused. She was loved. She was hated. She had lovers. She was alone.
What the gossips never discerned is how she fell through the glass, her death.
How the neighbors waited, bated breath for her toxicology. Negative on all counts.
You could see them sputter, saliva splashing with reactive jowls.
Cries spilled, disregarded. Someone cared.