She had been getting familiar with all the rooms in this apartment for a week now, sleeping in one, then the other. She finally found the softest, most comfortable, bed.

She wasn’t going back to bed, now that she was up, even if the sun wasn’t.  She made to go into the kitchen, but the smell caused her to gag.

She had to go in, anyway.  How else was she going to get to the fridge, for something to eat, having finished off any edible stuff around this place?  The last real meal was before there was that smell when she used the knife when it was still clean.

Now, it was dirty.  It was congealed with blood.  She pulled the knife out of the rotting body on the kitchen floor.  She wiped the blood off the blade on her clothes and sliced some bread up for sandwiches.

Cover image by Peter Ivey-Hansen on Unsplash. The copyright of this piece belongs to the author of this literary work.  

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This is an excerpt from Leon Wing’s Kwailo and Other Strange Tales. Purchase the anthology here. Submit your short stories, poems, essays, reviews, and more here.