Pulse: A Fifty-Word Story

Mother holding son


Pulse

Zack lay at the bottom of the stairs. Dianne dropped her keys and rushed to him. Her fingers detected no pulse from his windpipe.

She covered the wound and cleaned him from the blood. Zack’s light body was easy to carry.

Dianne breathed into his chest. He rose; she collapsed.


Prompt: Witch
Writer: Jeremy Mifsud
Photo: Jordan Whitt on Unsplash

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