Burnt toast

The morning light streamed into her room. Crows shouted at each other outside. The smell of burnt toast filled the house. She was in the kitchen, right next to the toaster. But her mind was somewhere else. He was in the next room. His hands and eyes were busy packing. Even his nose had no time. The toast continued to burn until he finished packing. She came out of her trance and looked at him. “Look at the toast,” he said with a frown. She looked at it, or rather, through it. Then she turned her head towards the refrigerator and said, “There’s more food in there.”

 

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