Thunder rumbled like stone overhead. The wind pushed against him.
“A storm is coming.”
He heard. He squeezed the worn pendant in his fist.
The surgeon’s lips move. The words don’t register. He embraces inner silence, drifts. He knows what is being said.
An ordinary clock hangs on the waiting room wall. The red second hand plods forward.
“… Do you understand?”
He nods. Pulls at the chain snuggling under his shirt. Touches the pendant worn smooth.
The hall echoed with voices and footfalls. She knelt, hunched over, lowered to his level.
Her necklace swung between them.
“This is for you.”
Picture is by Brian Wolfe. (100 words)