With the first day of December starts the traditional advent calendar. This year, I've decided to make one of my own. A short story written over 25 days.

L’après-midi s'annonce encore plus étouffant que d'habitude. Un soleil de plomb semble maintenir la ville sous cloche. Pas un souffle d'air. Tout est immobile, comme prostré, dans l'espoir de diminuer un peu cette sensation de se consumer de l'intérieur.

“The Monarchs are late.”

All the conversations around the table suddenly stopped. Fifteen pairs of eyes turned, like one of those perfectly synchronized flocks of birds, staring at my great-grand-mother. Nobody had heard my Bila's voice in almost three years. Since her beloved husband had died. We all thought her mind had left with him, her shell patiently waiting for the end.