Jessica McCulla

The Artist

At 2:30 in the afternoon, Ella sat back on her haunches and wiped the sweat from her brow with the back of her hand. Despite the earliness of the afternoon, the little attic apartment that had once housed her mother was already sweltering. She laid the last book from the empty bookcase on top of its companions in the box in front of her and got up to open the window. How could her mother live like this? Ella sighed. How many times had she asked that question in her life?