Blinding
Ethel Rohan

Noises carried up from the kitchen, the work of sustenance. There was something she was supposed to get, but couldn't. Beyond her bedroom window, the ice-cream van passed, its jingle mocking. She gripped the empty coca-cola bottle tighter, bucking. After, she blinked hard, the flutter of caged doves, experiencing something like an ice-cream aftertaste.

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