and one more

There was a sharp pain where the scissors came out of his foot. He had ran, barefoot, through the rubble to get there. Without looking he had landed on the upended blades and they slid cleanly through the meat. He took two more steps before the pain hit him, squeezing his kidneys, buckling his knees. He had no more food in him; he hadn’t eaten in days. Two or three; he lost count. The emptiness of his stomach didn’t prevent the bile from coming out. He heaved, keeping his forehead pressed into the broken concrete, but did not cry.

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