“The missing files were found. Please report to the station at dawn.”
That winter night was quiet. Upon a tainted bed lay a woman with tousled blonde hair and her eyes shut tight. She woke up with a groan and turned her body to face the window painted with the milky light of the moon.
Mandarins. She wanted mandarins. Perhaps it was the way her husband would peel them gently, giving in to her cravings easily with a gentle smile. But her husband wasn’t here, and neither were those cravings. She blinked a few times and got up out of bed, allowing herself to slide open the door.
The wind was graceful and hushed, kissing her cheeks before moving past her ears. She opened the fridge slowly. There was nothing worth any time inside the frigid atmosphere except an empty longing. She forced herself away and looked at the fluttering curtains. She must’ve forgotten to close the window earlier that night, wistfully thinking a ghost from her past would force it shut.
She looked into the pantry and found a small open bag of bright orange mandarins. She set the netted bag onto her counter, digging her nails into the skin, but it burned. She leaped back and shook her wrist. Her face felt wet, and her eyes were blurry.
Haunted by a warm ghost, she took a kitchen knife from the knife block, cutting open the thin exterior. She had her mandarins with a wet hand and a bloody knife.
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