Foe ✓

❀ | four

            We meet again.

            The child, at four-years-old, stares blankly out the windows of the villa. Her kindred old neighbor is being carried out on a cot. A bit of foam drizzles on the edge of her mouth and she lies eerily still. 

            Death is inevitable, however, always unexpected to society. No matter how obvious it may seem, humans intend on denying death. With hope flickering in their hearts, always wishing for the opposite to occur. For there to be miracles.

            Not everything is a miracle.

            The housemaid finally notices the young girl's reference and comes over from her daily aid of dusting. Letting out a shallow breath of air, she speaks for the toddler's sake.

            "You're lucky that it wasn't you, today."

            As I stand by the deceased grandmother, I'm watching the child, watching where her eyes are touched upon. And I inhale sharply as I realize that it's not the neighbor she is staring at.

            It is I.