Every Friday writers from around the world contribute 100 word stories prompted by a photograph supplied by Rochelle Wisoff-Fields to Friday Fictioneers. I love constructive comments on my stories.
Trevor must have sped straight to the hospital after I called. Jimmy was high on ventolin, me on adrenalin.
I looked behind Trevor as he came in.
‘She’s not coming,’ he said. Relief felt like sedation.
Trevor pushed back his son’s fringe. His adam’s apple lifted and fell, lifted and fell.
Jimmy’s mask was strapped to his face. Smoke puffed from its holes as he wheezed.
‘I’m a dragon, Dad.’
Trevor’s smile twitched downwards. He cleared his throat and nodded.
We stayed in the hospital for one precious night. Watching over him. Like a family again.