"There is no pulse."
Liar.
"Ma'am, are you listening to me."
Liar.
"Ma'am," an olive tone hand touches a dark brown shoulder, "there is no pulse. We have to go."
The olive tone hand grabs the arm attached to the dark brown shoulder. Pulling it forces the dark brown body into motion.
The sunset is a nice warm orange with splashes of red and purple spread throughout. The ocean is a deep blue that rages the shore. The sand feels nice beneath hardened soles. The grains are fine and loose and give to the weight of sunken souls in weathered bodies. The air smells nice. It's free of smoke and human pollutants.
He lied to me.
The olive man holding this dark brown lady is very kind, forceful but kind. He is good to her. His hazel eyes couldn't leave her during the boat ride. Her every motion and grimace either pulled his heart up or closed the valves to his lungs. She'd never been so scared and excited in her life. The waves had been huge; larger than anything she'd seen before. She was so sure the boat would turn over. Her baby is growing restless. She can feel him moving inside her. She's been trying to control him but now he's having none of it.
My child, my child, my...
A scream, more like a groan, less human less real, forced its way through blistered lips. Weak knees buckle and collapse on the sand. His weary, bruised arms grab her at the waist. He is unsure as how to hold her. Her wet cold dress suddenly becomes warm. He thinks to himself, 'this will be very uncomfortable for her, but this can't happen here.' Putting her am around his shoulder, he picks her up and walks with her to an uncertain destination.
