House of Cards

It's funny how quickly problems dissipate when life is on the line. Part of me was aware I was only acknowledging the good—but what is the point of stewing in the bad?

I received his personal effects—stuffed in a plastic bag, sealed off with tape. His black waxed canvas pants stiff with dried blood, rendered useless by the jagged slice made to break his body free. His wallet, phone, two knives, leather boots, and pack of cigarettes—all accounted for—I didn’t know he smoked. But his wedding ring was missing.