I touch his face, my fingers caressing his lips, catching on a ragged ridge of chapped skin. I press my own to them, tasting the tang of tears as they cascade down my cheeks. I drink in his warmth. Or what’s left; it won’t be long before his lips mirror the hue of a bloated blueberry.
“Don’t go. Don’t leave me.” My fists fly, pounding his chest, pushing him away.
Something shiny claims my attention. Silver. Then red. Blood red.
“I didn’t mean to…” I whisper. “You were going to leave her. For me. You shouldn’t have changed your mind.”
***
Esther Chilton 
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