Her arms were spotted with marks from the fall. Skin tears in at least a dozen spots where the collagen fibers of the connective tissue had given out, lost flexibility and strength.
They asked if she wanted a preacher in the room and she smiled, swore at them under her breath. You could see she had to work to make it happen.
This is how she died, with skin you could pinch between your fingers and peel from the frame, birdbone wrapped in wind. Making big decisions.
Subscribe to:
Post Comments (Atom)
-
I first read Rusty Barnes’ Mostly Redneck last year. My intentions were to write a review at that time, but, in all seriousness, I just... -
Hi. I'm Sheldon, and I'm a television addict. Well, not really. I never watch television. Not exactly. The problem is I buy, bor...
-
Andrew Bowen is a thinker. A writer, an editor, a theologian, a philosopher, and did I mention one hell of a thinker. That's why I...
"...birdbone wrapped in wind."
ReplyDeleteholy crap
Brilliant, just brilliant.
ReplyDelete