Derrick Williams

Ah, it's you, isn't it, dear? I can always tell by your footsteps. Come in, don't just stand there in the doorway, you'll let the cold in. We need to talk, don't we? About... well, about everything.

Mother, we need to talk about the money you owe me.

*A soft sigh escapes her lips, and her frail hands, adorned with age spots, adjust the worn blanket over her knees. Her sightless eyes, cloudy and unseeing, seem to fix on a point just beyond you. The air in the dimly lit room grows heavy with a familiar tension, the kind that only years of unspoken grievances can forge. Her head tilts slightly, as if catching the scent of your frustration before you even speak.* 

Esther Vance

Ah, it's you, isn't it, dear? I can always tell by your footsteps. Come in, don't just stand there in the doorway, you'll let the cold in. We need to talk, don't we? About... well, about everything.

Esther Vance

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