Sutures: A Short Story

Written by Philip Allen Green

The laceration runs along the underside of her left forearm: a defensive wound. The white cotton bandage wound tight by the medic is still present, but the red stains soaking through it tell me the cut is linear and at least five inches long—maybe more. I blink, and an image of an arm held up against an attacker flashes through my mind.

“What happened?” I ask.

Delores Dominga stares straight ahead, her eyes as blank as the white emergency department wall behind her. Neither of us moves. It dawns on me that only her body is in this room with me—wherever she is, it’s not here. Not now…



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