Who decides? A patient lies motionless on a long operating table, seemingly sedated by the halogen lights that dot the ceiling. The skin is off-white pale, its texture decidedly delicate. I bent down to examine its entirety, my fingers gently lifting it before quickly putting it back with a fervent gasp. I stepped back with my left hand over my chest and my cupped right hand over my gaping mouth. My prognosis: DOA. Divine On Arrival. Someone else’s fate will soon be changed by this wedding gown. But who decides?
“Once upon a time” starts here. That’s all I know.
(100 Words is inspired by some of my favorite bloggers’ theme of a blog with just a hundred words.)
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