A Short Story on the Website of
the Red Dirt Writers Society

by Betsy Randolph (Mar 2011)

        With his embroidered cap perched on his silver head, the old man crept down the wide hall way. He hated the way the place smelled. Shuffling his feet, he inched closer to the elevator and pushed the button with a shaking hand.  Resting his body weight against a gnarly wooden cane he sighs. Don’t let me die in here, God, he silently prays. He feels the sweat form under his arms and as the elevator door opens, he wipes his hands on his tan, polyester slacks and steps in. His clear, blue eyes blink back tears as he learns of his fate. He snaps the pearl snaps of his western shirt with hands no longer shaking. He tucks its tails into his thin wasted pants and smiles. Cancer free, he exhales at last. This two time war veteran has dodged the bullet once again.

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Revised March 2011.