Angiogram

Photo courtesy and copyright property of Ronda Del Boccio, provided for the express purpose of prompting Rochelle Wisoff-FieldsFriday Fictioneers drabble challenge. Others’ efforts may be found here.

The heat’s sudden, like the dark lightning streaks veining across the bleach-clean monitor. The sensation stagnates, though the iodine still flows through the channels of my heart.

Yesterday, I waded through the murk of a floodplain. The languid glow of the muddy sunrise warmed my ears as it shimmered across the pools of my son’s eyes. He’d tried for so long to get me out there, to let my line drift free in the easy current.

I can’t help thinking about the paramedics slogging through the marsh as I watch the darkness puddling. What’d the dawn look like to them?

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Trying to Move On

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Photo courtesy of Maureen Farrelly via Pixabay. The bold text below is quoted from Dakota Feirer.

Her fingers are dressed in weathered rings. Moving in on her own, welcoming neighbors attempt to carefully circumvent the suspected sorrow. But they can’t help admiring the patinated bands, envious of her overzealous dedication. Abashedly downplaying their fascination, she’s scared they’ll see her verdigrised soul corroding underneath.