Story Fragment

Still, the memory of her wrapping my hands in gauze remains a freeze frame that hasn’t faded with age; a Polaroid of someone I love doing something beautiful and not knowing it. In the red glow of the drugstore lights, the blood seemed to fade from our hands, leaving us sisters swearing fealty to one another, like young men bent knee to king and country.
I have to believe that she knows it’s the only oath I haven’t broken.
I have to believe that at the end of the war, she’ll know it’s all I have left.

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