She wished she could have gone for a last walk with him.

They would have strolled past the cafes where they had lattes and croissants.

THE KILL BY THOMAS MAMPALAM 34THPARALLEL MAGAZINE ISSUE 138

Eldon Carter touched the surgical dressing. The sharp pain made him shiver and sent a spasm down his spine. At least I’m still alive, Eldon thought. But he realized that he still could not move his legs.

Mathew Trujillo, the neurosurgical resident doctor, opened the sliding door to Eldon’s room and led in a group of physicians and nurses. To Eldon they seemed like a flock of seagulls alighting on the marina pier. They eyed him as if he was a halibut or striped bass that a fisherman had caught and laid out to dry.

“How are you doing this morning?” Trujillo asked. He spoke as if he were meeting Eldon on a morning stroll through the neighborhood.

Eldon thought. I’m doing as well as might be expected with lung cancer. Eldon said, “I still can’t move my legs.”