Edio Yenye Shavu

But her skin was too cold, her eyes too blank, and then the memory came: a bottle rolling underfoot, a car swerving off the road, a cry cut off by the sickening crunch of metal against wood. And suddenly, her skin looked too translucent and her eyes no longer shone how they’d used to. “No…” Maurice whispered, voice hoarse, blood dribbling from his chapped lips. “Wake up… wake up!” Crawling inside the car, he grabbed the woman’s shoulders, roughly shaking her until her head lolled back.