100 Words: What It Meant

She fell asleep in the bath again; waking as he pulled her from the cold water, wrapped her in a towel, cupped her face in his hands. He looked in her eyes (left, then right, then left again) — he shone the light against the navy of her irises, to see if they would tighten up (the right did, the left didn’t) and his expression was always concern, was always worry, always sadness and she could not make herself look at him anymore.

She knew what he saw, what it meant, but she could do nothing to save him from that.

About Catastrophe Jones

Wretched word-goblin with enough interests that they're not particularly awesome at any of them. Terrible self-esteem and yet prone to hilarious bouts of hubris. Full of the worst flavors of self-awareness. Owns far too many craft supplies. Will sing to you at the slightest provocation.
This entry was posted in Fiction, Flash and tagged , , , , , , , , , , . Bookmark the permalink.

Leave a Reply

Your email address will not be published. Required fields are marked *

This site uses Akismet to reduce spam. Learn how your comment data is processed.