The Black Rose | Short Story
Midnight fog dimmed the moon, while Ava’s eyes were glued to the washing machine as the motion of the rotating fans shadowed the machine rhythmically. Meanwhile, the washer spun and filled with slurping noise, tossing and flipping her clothes as she folded clothes from an earlier load. The laundry attendant struggled walking toward Ava as each step was a painful lump; a trembling, cracked voice flowed into words once the attendant reached her.
