The Broken Rib and the Cold Wall
· 6 min read
Old Dubois felt his rib was broken. Not a dull ache, but as if a red-hot iron poker was being brutally stirred inside his left chest with every breath, every slight movement. The pain was so real, so tyrannical, much like life itself often imposed upon him. He had slipped on those damned steps, coated with a thin layer of ice, still clutching a small bag of wrinkled potatoes, his sustenance for the next three days.