The Clot Thickens

A cyclical tale

Photo by Kelli McClintock on Unsplash

Arn’s dad was dying. He would go that night.

It only took 30 minutes down the M4 for Arn to get there, but already his dad was blind and drifting in and out of consciousness. His large head and leaden hair, lay on the crisp white pillow like a beached whale.

Arn bowed over him and squeezed his hand.