Six sentences for Sunday, December 1:
Every sound magnifies, waiting for him. Down the hall, the light under her parents’ door has gone off. She counts to a hundred and then a hundred again before throwing off her sheet and getting out of bed. The previous day’s clothes still lie in a heap beside the hamper, and she tugs them on, pulling up the zipper of her shorts one tine at a time. Her shoes she leaves lined up under the windowsill. Her flashlight rests on the frame.