Grime
A Microfiction
She knows. She glances at the grime under my nails. My scratched face. The truancy text from school.
We haven’t touched our food. She stares into my eyes. Her right one swollen shut. “Your father’s not coming home, is he?”
I stare back, unblinking.
We split his dinner.
Ohhh shit. This is fire
He had it coming