Short Stories

The doom pile sat on the table. Watching. She grabbed her keys and left. Late in the evening she returned, tossing today’s mail onto its mass. She baked a quick pizza, curled onto the couch, and pressed play on her comfort show. The pile watched the routine, patient and unmoving. Something rustled deep inside its weight, faint as a whisper. She didn’t hear. She slept. She woke. Keys again. Gone again. Late again. Another pizza. Another episode. Always the same. Until the pile