My little sister had a music box. She kept her scraps of plastic jewelry in it, a ceramic ballerina in a tulle tutu popped every time she pulled back the lid. Then there was the noise. Scrappy, too much like metal grinding together, a classical ballad of some kind but played too fast and too shrill, a techno Beethoven. Continue reading Trill by E.M. Fitch
He squeezed the trigger with a slow, practiced pull. The sound of the shot pierced the air, just one crack among hundreds, thousands, that would sound that day. Her head jerked back with a thunk, the finality of her skull smashing into the pavement.
Death would be easier. Continue reading The World Was Full of Monsters By E.M. Fitch