Enzo left the next morning. He didn’t say goodbye. Tortora didn’t expect him to.
“I’m afraid of watching another person leave.” tortora
The Weight of the Dove
One autumn, a fever came crawling up from the southern ports. It painted throats white and turned breaths to rasps. The village priest prayed. The doctor bled them. People died anyway—first the old, then the young, then the strong who had sworn they were immune. Enzo left the next morning
Tortora pulled her hand free. “The fever ran its course. I just kept people alive long enough for that to happen.” then the young
“That’s the same thing.”