Fiction
by Caroline Taylor
by Caroline TaylorThey’ve locked me in my own bedroom. I’m cursing myself for my stupidity and wondering what they plan to do with me. Surely, they won’t do anything drastic like—I can’t even think the word. These are ordinary, albeit not exactly normal, couples in their sixties. The two women, Barb and Sandra, are the plump, gray-haired matrons you see grocery shopping or running errands all the time and pretty much ignore. Grandmothers. Enjoying their golden years. Barb is what one would politely term a big woman. She has pepper-and-salt hair, straight as a stick, and light blue eyes and is wearing a flowing wine-red caftan meant to hide her bulk. Sandra is shorter and mousier with brown eyes and hair the color and texture of a rag mop—just about as unkempt,
