Flash Fiction: Teardrops
© Justin Dingwall
Cold.
Everything around her seemed bland. Cold.
The white sheets against her back felt like everything a blanket should not feel like.
A teardrop left her right eye. She could not care less.
She focused on its salty taste as the ineluctable path crossed her lips.
She somewhat enjoyed the uneasy tickle on her neck.
The water drop progressed down to her breasts. Faster. Faster.
Then,
gone. Back to the void.
A grey spot on the white towel wrapped around her body.
The only trace left of a break from her apathy.
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