The Day After Saturday



The Day After Saturday.


A plaid shirt and a gold chain, a conservative pixie haircut. She looked innocent enough.  At first.

 I met her on a lonely Sunday afternoon, on the path from the old town.  The birch trees were singed yellow, their leaves turning this way and that in the wind.  One wet leaf was stuck to her jacket shoulder, and another to her leather shoe.  She tried not to meet my gaze as I approached but manners finally dictated that she look up, those cold blue eyes.  And that’s when I knew.

 Leaving Elisa’s cottage the day before, I’d left the door unlocked.  It was nearly dawn and the clanking metal of the key would have awakened her.  When they found her body, bloodied sheets stuck to her bare skin, her tips box was missing, and there was a single yellow birch leaf on the braided rug. 

Elisa would have gladly given her the money. 

And made her coffee. 

Had she only asked.


Barbara Boyle


Barbara Boyle, after a long and colorful career creating advertising around the world, now resides in a 300-year-old stone farmhouse in Northern Italy.  She’s surrounded by orchards, vineyards and barking deer.  Her fiction has appeared or is forthcoming in Star Island Journal and Star 82 Review.

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