The buzzer is pressed. The door is opened. It’s him but the features are bloated, beaten. He’s still there, somehow. But he’s slipping.
Ten percent. Do we gamble? It’s a funny thing, making decisions for those who can’t for themselves. And so we cleansed our hands and waited. Justified our actions and waited. Comforted each other and waited.
Peacefully, he left.
We’re coping okay. Eating out. Laughing. Accepting. Putting it all behind. Moving on.
Or so we thought.
One day we hear a familiar story from people who have less. And the most painful thing is, they gambled.
*100-word story inspired by D. Gonzalvo