Saturday's Storyteller: "She wasn't supposed to die, just to suffer immensely."
by Belinda Roddie She wasn't supposed to die, just to suffer immensely. And yet, there she was, eyes half-open and glazed with the last of the blood and tears. She was dead. Very, very dead. Becca didn't bother to clean up, or even move the body. She simply pulled the reddened latex gloves off her hands, slipped the scalpel back into its pouch on her belt, and walked out. She made sure that her boots did not leave a single print on the messy linoleum. The walk back to her apartment was slow and cold - June was not promising summer fun just yet. Becca tossed the gloves into the large dumpster beside her driveway, pulling the collar of her coat tightly against her throat. It felt like December, even though six months had passed. She half-expected to see snow fall or Christmas trees light up in windows. Winter had never quite left her mentally. She hadn't meant to die. But she had fought too much. Moved too much, wriggled too much. Becca had meant to aim for