FaceFic

She awakens. Lifts her sleep heavy legs out of bed. Shoulder still hurts from swinging the mallet. Slippers, gown, down to the kitchen. Her old face careworn, gentle hands reach past His special cup for her own. Boil kettle. His preference: Russian Caravan. She pours herself a Lady Grey. His empty chair still lies overturned on the linoleum. She rights it, sits down. Sips, smiles. Wonders where she will put his body.