A Beacon Hill morning short story
The morning air chilled me through my spring clothes. I should’ve worn a jacket, but I wasn’t going inside to get one.
The streets surrounding my Beacon Hill condo were quiet. I sat on the outside steps, sheltered from the wind. The sky was crisp, ice blue, as the early morning clouds faded away. The entrance door to the Beacon Hill building opened. I held my breath, resolved not to look.
Something landed behind me with a soft thud. I turned to find my jacket within arm’s reach. I looked up, caught a glimpse of her eyes.
The door rattled closed, then gave way to silence.
