very small fiction

Edna

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faithrhyne@gmail.com

show details 10:39 PM (3 hours ago)

When the rat bit, Edna flung her arm back – away from the dark corner the rat had been waiting in.

“Waiting” – that is how Edna told it.

“The rat was waiting, and it bit me. Clear to the bone, it did. It bit me.”

Her voice would trail a little before she shrugged the rest of the story out: “Well, the bite got bad infected, into my blood it got. That was that. Amputation is cheaper and faster than the medicine they said to give and so…”

She’d bring her half-arm up so it stood out from her like a rifle of proof.

Then she’d drop it to her side, clearly finished telling her story.

Is there really anything to say?

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