Divorce Feb 3, 2007 |
Within the sameness of her two palms rested his lonesome head. Perfectly balanced. And still there was no blood. Was he this anemic? The gunmen had promised there'd be blood. She couldn't move until there was some.
She had checked this morning with her favorite machine - she had shed a few pounds.
She had checked this morning with her favorite machine - she had shed a few pounds.
Labels: anaemia, blood, death, divorce, fiction, flash fiction, short story, story, surreal, weight