Prompt: shooting
"Desiccated Husk"
He comes sometimes to visit the man who inhabits this room. Sits on the bed beside him and runs a trembling hand over the scar covered by thickening hair.
He looks into two eyes. Dusty hazel dulled by cocktails of psychiatric drugs, inducing a false sense of calm. The man has enough instinct left to lean into human contact, although he seems afraid. He's shaking. Afraid of everything now. Irreversibly changed since the shooting.
The cruelty of it burns deeply.
A desiccated husk.
A shadow that is, on occasion, vicious and fierce.
Kindly, he kisses his temple. "You're okay, Tony."