“The way my mother died had something to do with a cult. Dad won’t talk about it. Bad memories, he says, and his face goes all blank. I’ve looked it up, of course: 27 women in a church hall. Phenobarbital. Paper bags. And, back in that sepia past, my father held in police custody. What exactly he did is never made clear — whether he was a hero in the matter or something else — but he was released without charge, and my one-year-old self released into his care.”
A very short story about a woman with an interesting family history. Published in Burst – a literary magazine designed for phones which is now defunct. Read online via the Internet Archive here.