Bound

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Kramer Kay stood among shelves upon shelves of glass figurines. Someone was dead. She could feel it, but she couldn’t see them yet. As she walked around the display cases that held a variety of glass statues, the store clerk approached and asked if she needed any help. The store’s lights were bright, the air stale and dry. She turned, licked her lips, and judged the woman to be at least sixty years of age. Her name tag read “Beatrice”.

“I’m just looking,” Kramer responded. Beatrice probably heard that all day.

“Just holler if you need anything.”

Kramer politely nodded and turned away.

Every sort of figure was done up in glass in front of her. Dolphins, wolves, deer, even elephants. She reached out to pick up a glass rabbit and felt someone standing beside her.

I thought I told the clerk I was just looking.

Kramer glanced to her right where a teenage girl stood, holding a glass deer with its head down in the grazing position. It appeared to Kramer that the girl, roughly eighteen years of age, worked here. Her name tag read, “Kelly”.

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