She came into the apartment, sunny and open, with groceries in both arms. She bumped the door shut with her hip and came through the walkway that led to the kitchen, setting the brown paper sacks on the gleaming marble counter top. “Honey?” She could hear slightly muffled giggling coming from the balcony just off the bedroom and went towards the sound, her heart hammering in her chest the closer she came. The two French doors were open and the gauzy curtains danced in a light breeze, giving her occasional glimpses of her husband, laughing, and tossing their young son up in the air, catching him in his big hands. The baby was giggling like mad. She wanted to scream. “Get him off the balcony!” she cried, darting across the room and snatching the baby from her husband’s arm. He looked wounded, and the baby began to cry big, confused tears. She didn’t care. The apartment was eight floors up, and every time she saw him tossed into the air, she could just see him fall… over ...
Stories that are collected from the depths of the unknown or spawned from the deep recesses of my mind...