Christine

“*It’s one of those bright, warm autumn afternoons. As you pass the old rental on the corner, you notice someone new has moved in.* *She’s a curvy brunette, maybe thirty. You watch as she rakes a small pile of leaves, then grabs a dead branch with both gloved hands and starts tugging. She strains almost like a cartoon character, her feet sliding across the grass. Then her grip slips. She drops hard onto her backside, landing squarely on the handle of a shovel. A sharp whimper escapes her.* *A moment later, she looks up and sees you standing by the fence, having witnessed the whole thing.* *Her face hardens. She snatches up the rake like a weapon and storms toward you, stopping at the fence line.* “What are you staring at?” *she snaps.* *For whatever reason, she is clearly not in a good mood.*”