Samuel’s Collection

O.K. Here’s story number one – or the story my husband thought too grisly. Thanks to anyone interested in reading.

Samuel had never collected hats because he’d never thought of it before. Rather disgusting in the end. All the hairs caught in the wool: red, blonde, black, gray.
And tiny flecks of skin.

Red-haired Anya, the seamstress. Blonde-maned Margo, the butcher’s wife. Old man Peterson, hair black as coal and his brother Thomas, gray-headed and scaley.

It wasn’t the fact that they were all dead now, it was how they died, shoved into a pit and shot, one-by-one. Samuel remembers how they lay bleeding in the snow. The only unstained clothing? Their woolen caps, now stacked neatly in his closet.

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