by Eric Bosse

The girl buried her face in the gold paisley bed sheets and sobbed. Baby fat jiggled on her shoulders. "You said it felt good," the boy whispered. She pushed his hand away. He swung his feet to the floor and pulled on his chinos. The left pocket bulged with the forgotten heart-shaped box of truffles. He slid the box onto her cluttered vanity. The cardboard scraped against a perfume bottle, and the boy thought of souls scratching their way through the impossibly narrow gates of heaven. Then he heard her father's feet on the stairs, as he came to say goodnight.

Copyright © 2000  Eric Bosse

Eric Bosse lives in Colorado, teaches special children, makes films, plays music and usually writes much longer stories.  Another of his fictions appears in the current issue of Linnaean Street.