T’was before Covid, but after aids. Before trump, but after Lewinsky. Somewhere in-between the hullabaloo of life existed a fire haired girl who loved her grandma dearly. “Old people get it” she’d tell her mother when being lambasted over her makeup or the length of her skirt. “Marry while you’re still pretty dear.” Grandma knew that looks don’t last and men are seldom interested in an IQ. No matter what modern men said, they all wanted two things. A cooked meal when they come home, without having to think about which vegetable they would have to accost in silence. Meat, potatoes, and vegetables somehow disguised as something not abominable. And the word “yes” whenever they asked. “Men are simple.” Old people really get it.

“Your grandma is sick” her mother said matter-of-factly. She needs some supplies. Cough syrup, weed, something for the pain, and a new iPhone charger . Will you take the subway and deliver it to her apartment please? “Why does she not live with us?” “Your grandmother has not lost her looks yet.” The fire-haired girl smiled. “Sure, I’ll take it to grandma.”

Meanwhile, on the other side of the city, grandma was huffing from the cough and puffing from, well, you know. A knock at the door startled the old, usually chill, lady. A quick stab to the neck and the old lady disappeared in a puff of smoke.

Taking the elevator to grandma’s was daunting. The top floor of the highest building in the city. Grandma was not rich, she knew rich men who showed their gratitude for her beauty. Noticing the door ajar, her heart leaped. She had mace and an online masterclass in Aikido on her side, but she was not convinced that it will do the trick against whatever lurked behind the door. At first glance everything seemed in order. The apartment was as she knew it to be, except for the bedroom. The bedroom door was closed. Much to her dismay, grandma never closed the door. Today, it was closed.

“Who’s there?” She warbled. “It’s me dear.” She recognised the voice, but it lacked the raspy quality she had come to know and adore. “Why is your door closed?” “I had a fall.” She rushed to open the door without thinking about the logic of the matter. The assailant waited and struck. Her hair turned a forlorn shade of brown. It was over.