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Author on Reedsy Prompts since Dec, 2021
Submitted to Contest #148
When Mr. Jones knocked my apartment door, disturbing the usual serenity of Saturday morning, I wasn't particularly delighted. He explained himself after apologizing for being discourteous --- the man in his 50s, wrinkles-worn, two ends of unibrow as if horns; tailored suit fits, black eyes sunken like abyssal pits; boney hands shivering, ecchymoses on forearm under sunlight glittering, he has told me what he was going through, and begged for my help. He is dying. The cancer had tormented the man for some months, right after the diagnosis. ...
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