As we entered the room, we saw her.
------ was hooked up to machines. IVs in the veins of her wrists.
The side of her face was bruised and scratched. Her nose was broken. Her cheekbones were bright red, still fresh and bloody. They were covered by gauzes and bandages. Her arms were bruised and scratched. But not as bad as her legs. One was in a cast, broken. The other, raw but patched up like her cheeks.
Her husband quickly went to her side, in tears. Staring at the body I once had
i n m y a r m s .
And I would give anything to hold her like that again. Anything.
J u s t o n e
m o r e t i m e .
· · ·
R e a d y f o r a
b i g
r e v e a l ?
YOU ARE READING
s o t h i s i s l o v e #wattpride
Short StoryWhat does it mean to be h u m a n ? · · · To live? Breath? To be able to feel, perhaps? Physically, yes. Everyone with a beating heart can do so. · · · Or possibly to be human is to l o v e . · · · To love a person and cherish every second with them...
