I pointing at the remnants of the meal, asked, “it was her last meal…when the gas got leaked or was leaked…”
“Yes Ma’am…the gas had got leaked…” the guide replied.
I smiled. They were using my death very well. I looked at the meal again.
That evening, 1994 November, when I returned to my room I found this meal waiting for me. I knew my husband had already proved me insane then; for the vast property, as next step, he wants my life. Nurse Soumia helped me in the escape–leaking the gas pipe–on the deal of eighty thousand rupees.
For The Friday Fictioneers by Rochelle Wisoff