The Present by Sonja Larsen

Sometimes when she first wakes up in the morning she forgets she is a murderer.

She did not mean to do it when she threaded the needle.

She did not mean to do it when she tied the knot.

She did not know when she opened her sewing basket and sifted through the dozens buttons inside, when she selected two shiny black buttons, that she was picking the instrument of his death. You do not have to mean it to do something terrible. She knows that now. Intention is meaningless. You do not have to have an evil heart or a cruel mind.

You only need to be careless. You only need to tie the knot too loosely.

The father thinks if only he had not handed the gift to the baby.

The mother thinks if only she had not looked away.

They all think if only the baby had not loved it.

Everyday now they wake up tell and retell themselves their sad story in a thousand different ways. They trace each moment of the tragedy. But it always begins and ends with a button, a button she chose, a button she sewed, a small black button for the teddy bear’s eye.

Sonja Larsen’s work has been published in Fair Trade Journal, Zygote, Errata and has new work appearing soon in Room Magazine. When she is not writing her day job is working with at-risk youth.