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Connections
Miles watched as the ambulance drove off with Bernie’s body. Then, standing alone in the lobby, he took stock of himself. He was tired, sure, his eyes felt scratch. His injured wrist was not just achy, but itchy, and, oddly enough, he was hungry again. Worst of all, however, was the heavy feeling of sadness he felt in his chest.
He didn’t really even know Bernie that well, or he didn’t remember knowing him in any case, yet a deep sense of melancholy shadowed his heart. In fact, he was surprised to find that discomfort in his eyes was not due to fatigue, but crying. He diden't know if was weeping in memory of the deceased man or because of the mere idea of mortality. Or, maybe because Bernie had been the one person who knew him, even if it was in a small way, before the accident and now he was gone.
He hung his head down for several long seconds and then wal
Raquel Belury RosenbergWell, reader, if you've made it this far, I must be doing something right! I invite you to say hello and let me know if you're enjoying my story!
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