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He Waits Helplessly
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He Waits Helplessly
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He Waits HelplesslyBy Emma Shortt The room was washed in the palest of light. Perhaps if the mullioned windows were cleaner the light might be brighter, but they were not; and so the light was very much like a chick struggling free from the last of its egg shell. The metal bed was pushed head-first against one graying wall, and it and the woman on it were shaking, ever so slightly. Also in the room was a veneered cabinet, chipped around the edges, and a chair that had seen far too many years. There was more spring left on the chair than padding and so the man chose to stand next to the bed. Continue reading "He Waits Helplessly " |