Mini-story: Bring Her Back

Some deaths are someone else’s fault, and they’re probably the easiest because at least you can assign blame. That was the thought that had fastened itself onto Scott Russell’s mind, going round and round like a mantra, or a stuck record. He took another sip of the vodka and coke he’d been nursing for the past hour, wondering when the day would end. He didn’t usually add mixers to his drinks, but his sister-in-law had brought it to him and said that the sugar would help. To her credit, she’d been right. He’d discarded his tie somewhere and opened the top two buttons of the starched white shirt. He wouldn’t miss the tie; he’d only owned it for a day and a half, and he very much hoped never to need it again. Simple black fabric. No, the tie wasn’t what he’d miss at all. His wife Jenny, on the other hand… yes, he was going to miss her. He already did. He now understood just what it really meant to miss someone — in the profoundest way; as a fucking profession, to be continued ceaselessly…