Matt Mitchell

  • Matt Mitchell

It had been Wednesday when she’d left. Coming this far back always meant you lost a couple of days. “Going up?” She kept her voice bright. “Basement.” He sounded like angry gravel. She smiled and stroked a manicured nail over ‘B1’, careful to turn her hand, hiding her calloused trigger finger. The steel jaws of the lift rattled shut as she primed the syringe hidden in the bouquet. She tried to think about all the lives this kill would save, eventually. The cold math had never sat right with her, at least it would be Friday when she got back.

Seed by Matt Mitchell. Image by Johno Mellish.