Mouse at the ready, brain frozen by Nyquil, his nose drips on the keyboard. Winter flu hovers yet he bravely holds the desk until Friday.
He repeated his name for her, but she simply stared ahead, motionless. He watched their past disintegrate behind her eyes.
Baby doll didn’t cough no more. But all that quiet weren’t any better.
Pressed against a stranger in the bus, I felt a knot on my breast—soft, small and secretive. I missed my stop for the first time that day.
I made her a sandwich, washed an apple, and hoped she’d cope without me. She waved goodbye through a gin-fueled haze as I hopped on the bus.
He entered the gym in just his vest and pants. The PE teacher called the nursing home. The ex-pupil had forgotten more than just his PE kit.