Nunum’s Done in a Hundred Anthology:
My white knuckles grip the safety bar. Heights, speed, lack of control– things I avoid at all costs.
I connect the video call, phone shaking. His gaunt, beautiful face calms my nerves.
“I knew you wouldn’t deny a dying man one last rush.” His eyes sparkle, though his body, plump and sweet only months earlier, has withered like a winter apple.
Through the screen he watches the sky. The coaster climbs.
“I hope you’re happy.” My fear is overwhelming.
“Turn the phone, I want to watch you.” I lock into his eyes and scream as we plummet.
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