He had not been prepared. It was meant to be a routine check-up, not a death sentence, so he didn’t blame himself for the things he said in anger. Anyway, now his mind was clear. The tidal wave of shock and grief had washed away every excess concern and left him with one solitary desire which he now realised had always been there—he just hadn’t noticed it among the clutter he’d been collecting. The foundation was bared. His heart was exposed, and focused like never before.
He wanted to live.
Continue reading The Leaf Collector (a very short story)
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