Literature
Was It A Dream, Agent?
I had loved him, and he died.
I sat in my apartment, staring at the floor, trying not to look at the place that we had shared. I had nowhere else to go, but I couldn't stay there. I couldn't bring myself to go back to work, although my boss kept leaving messages. "Agent Donovan," my boss would say, "you must come into the office, I have something important to discuss with you." I stopped listening after the thirty-second message. I sank deeper into my chair, the same chair I would always find him sitting in when I got in late from work. He always had some food for me, and he would hug me and ask about my day. I really did not deserv