Sep 6, 2018 · 1 min read
Someone saw the sheets. Perhaps it was the bed, or the hotel cleaners. There must be hotel cleaners that see sheets everyday. Sheets that have been used.
Laid on but never slept in.
Slept in but never stayed.
Nightmares from the travelers past.
Tear stains on every pillow case.

Alone, but with sheets. Sheets to lay on during the Winter months. Sheets to use as blankets in the Summer breeze.
These hotel cleaners never know the story. Nor the past, or the resemblance. They just see so many sheets. Toilet paper in the bathroom trash. Ash on the balcony.
Do they complain with their coworkers on their routine smoke break? About the smell, the terror, about the hidden necklace? Do they smoke every fifteen minutes or every bloody sheet?
