Brianna

When Brianna died I was alone. Things were harder then. No windows so even night and day was a mystery. It was dizzying. The uncertainty. I weirdly looked forward to the sound of his bucket.

And it came. Slow and steady. Trundling down the corridor. Catching occasionally on raised bricks. The door nudged open. He called me his precious. Stroked my lank knotted hair. And that’s when it rose in me. The anger.

A need to hurt him.

I remember turning, smiling. My eyes lowered as he came closer. His short raspy breath tinged with tobacco as I pushed him.