An Advent Calendar of Stories
December 01 2014
Entering my younger sister’s bedroom I felt death hovering over her like a black shroud. I sat down and held her cold, sinewy hand.
The sun streamed through the window and something sparkled on her bedside table; it was our grandmother’s bracelet caught by the sunlight, a beautiful mixture of sapphires and diamonds. I had always resented that she had inherited it. Overwhelmed by a sense of righteous injustice, I slipped it into my pocket.
As I bent over to kiss her goodbye, she grabbed my arm, pulled me close, and with her last breath whispered, “Put it back bitch.”
About the Author
Alison Peden, mother of three, grandmother of one, writing from her wheelchair in Manchester.
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