"You're making coffee?" Emily turned the corner from the hallway, looking at the clock, its little hand on the three. She gawked at the sight of me, suddenly.
"Not mine," I croak out, referencing red splats like confetti on my torn t-shirt. The world was underwater.
She must know what this look means. Walks to me slowly. Touches my face. Prepares the gurney with a look of her own.
"He tried..." I begin.
"You tried harder," her eyes are gunshots.
I'm picking at my reddened nails, silent-crying in the relief of understanding.
About the Creator
Lisa Herdman
I'm learning to be wildly inappropriate, ridiculous, needy - and alive.
Thank you so much for all the support!
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Barrie
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