‘Look at that light. So pretty.’
‘Yes.’ Linda paused. ‘I understand, Mum. It’s your choice.’
Nothing more to be said. The silence and the light came together, ingredients of a brief, inconspicuous perfection. Then it passed, and dusk drew in, and the night would be long and difficult.
The form of consent was signed, everything sorted. Only a matter of time, and her mother’s decision.
Winter was coming. Soon the sun would be too low, the light no more on the wall. Through all her pain, would she find something else to be pretty? One more day…
In response to Matt’s Flash Fiction Foray, which had the song One More Day as a prompt.