This is my contribution to this weeks NSR.
The medics brought her in. She was in arrest. The trauma was so bad to her face she was barely recognizable. Something about her seemed familiar to me. A whisper of recognition. Where do I know that scar from? The mole on her arm and way she wears her wrist watch? I hear a first name. A name I know. They don’t know her last name. But I do. I helped teach her ALS class. She dated a friend of mine months ago. What is she doing in the trauma room? Why am I doing compressions on this girl? She is young, late twenties early thirties max. There is nothing we can do for her. The bullet did its job and she accomplished her goal. Now she’s mine. Imprinted on my memory like a silent movie. I recognize her, I remember her as lively and funny. Unfortunately she couldn’t recognize the same in herself.
Young Bob Dylan
3 hours ago