by bugs

"'What's the last thing you remember?' she asks. Her twitching fingers pleat the crisp white sheet beside my inert arm.

I have to stop examining the familiar planes of her face, noting all the subtle little changes, to search my fragmented memory. 'I remember...'

...The warmth of her necklace coming to rest on my suddenly chilled skin as she stepped back. Her fingers briefly grasping, then releasing my index finger as the door to Skinner's office opened and the others poured out...

'...We didn't have a chance to kiss goodbye.'"

 

 

 

Click image to read

 

 

 


Stories


Home