the old woman in the chair ____________________________ the old woman sits in the rocking chair, weeping. no one knows why. the house reeks of rot and something sweeter, like meat left too long in the sun. her tears fall in rhythm, steady as the creak of the chair. sometimes she laughs between sobs—thin, papery sounds that don’t belong to her throat. no one lives with her, but at night, footsteps echo down the hall, slow and small. she never turns to look.
