“We need to talk,” Wayne wheezed into the phone. “In person.”
“I can’t make it to you. Slog your lazy ass over here.”
Stomping through the woods, his lungs burned. They’d never been the same since the fire. Wait, what fire?
Her shrill laughter guided him towards the rubble of her cabin.
Pushing his way through the charred door, he saw her. Once lovely, she was now an almost skeletal corpse.
“Came for amends? Should have tried that before burning me in my sleep.”
He ran back, away from the mocking laughter he killed her for. Time again for forgetting.
This story is a response to the weekly Centina Pentina prompt “Start a story with somebody saying, ‘We need to talk’”.