The 3WW words are abstain, halo, prayer. Play along one of these weeks. This inspires me to write at least one story a week, (as I flounder in my other wip) and keeps me involved in #fridayflash.
The halo screwed into his head, long rods held him rigid. He lay still, monitor beeping, diminished inside the sterile. A wave, a stumble, a one-in-a-million accident. His brother bent to kiss him, left the room. She would not leave.
They kissed on the couch, side by side, his body held her still. He was the first to probe. Good girls' fingers tent for prayer; good boys' fingers seek the eternal. She could not breathe. His mother glided. I'm not that kind of girl, she told the closed door.
"You have to leave. Visit for a few minutes, then go. Displaying your misery does not help my brother." Offended, she stayed. His touch created a devoted girlfriend; she did not know how to leave. Unconditional love's condition. Her halo hovered.
The hospital released him. One prayer answered. She could live inside her anticipation for their again, abstain from his tangible. Six months was not forever.
The doctor removed his halo. His blond hair screened the holes. In time, they would diminish. "I am free," he said. She drove him home, to his life. He kissed his fingers, touched her cheek. "You are too," he said. He shut the door, her freedom locked inside her rigid halo.