Death

Janis took a long drag on the cigarette, let it saturate her lungs, and exhaled, watching the stream of white smoke dissipate.

Her baby died. Two months shy of a year old.

Lorraine's arrival had completed Janis and filled her entire existence with profound love. But what is left now is a hole in her heart and a sadness so sharp it jabs at her chest.

It started with a fever, and the doctor told Janis it was probably part of the teething process. When the fever didn't go down the next day, Janis brought Lorraine to the emergency room. It was a Thursday night. The bacteria, still unknown, took little Lorraine's life 5 days later.

Janis had held on to the limp little body for an hour. Stroking the tiny hands she so loved to kiss.

It's been a month since, and all that's left of Lorraine are ashes in an urn. Janis sat by the water with the cigarette in her trembling fingers. She wish she was dead too.