Member-only story
Planned Obsolescence
The cold wind blew the door shut behind the old woman.
“We got a letter.”
They finished a cup of tea, and sat.
The sunlight ached through the small window beside the dinner table. The rays stretched slowly, surely, over the wood grain. The kettle began to sing.
“Who’s it from?”
She poured into two mugs. With her fingernail, she opened it.
“They’re adding a lane downstate. They aren’t replacing the drive near us.”
He looked out the window. Half the street was a ditch. He took a sigh, another sip.
The old woman opened the grey curtains. It was snowing. She rested two mugs, same sides as before. The tea kettle sang. Her husband stared. His eyes lingered. The grass gave way to a white blanket as the morning stretched on. Her fingernail, duller than before, pried open another letter. Red and green flickered off her polish, back into her spectacles.
“They won’t be rebuilding the cell tower down the road.”
The old woman cracked open the window. The old man’s hands trembled. He brought up the mug, took a short sip. The fan turned quickly, swung lightly off its axis. The old woman stared to the bottom of her mug.
The old man looked again, surprised, at the sign staked in the yard.
