I’m bitter that Mother gave away the last of our batteries. Reading by candlelight isn’t romantic; it’s tedious.
The drenching heat leaves us slimy and exhausted. It’s horrible weather for wearing her wig, but mother holds on tightly to relics. Her insistence on decorum will probably kill both of us.
First there was the blind panic. Grocery stores and pharmacies were raided. People became more disposable than supplies, and riots were everywhere. Now there’s only silence. Few people leave their apartments. I’ve been trying to hoard food, but mother can’t seem to help herself. She’s unable to distinguish between angels and urchins. As I stare at our dwindling supplies, she mumbles about her nonexistent grandchildren. I remind her that the world is terrible now. Constantly.
We needed the batteries for a hundred other things, but she gave them away because she couldn’t resist their big weepy eyes. She doesn’t know what I know about those little brats.
This week’s Trifecta Challenge was the word “blind.”