Shyla Pope
Stories (3/0)
Sutures
The lamp light flickered over the curved needle pinched between his fingers. His leg bumped the wooden table between his bed and her own. Pulling the suture upward, he wiped away the blood running down her arm; the towel turned a brilliant crimson. He dropped it onto the carpeted floor. Tying off the suture, he grabbed the scissors from his bag before cutting off the needle. Running his finger over the small stitches he frowned. They were coarse against his skin.
By Shyla Pope2 years ago in Fiction
Unwelcome Visit
Rick came home in the middle of a storm. Even the thunder echoing outside her small house couldn't compare to his loud knocking. All he brought was a tattered suitcase and an empty wallet. It was more than he had when he'd left. She wanted to leave him standing in the hallway because he'd only contaminate her home.
By Shyla Pope2 years ago in Fiction