…and on the 8th day, micro fiction was published on some dude's blog.

There Would Be A Time

By the time Jenny arrived, they had already moved him to his own room. He was asleep when she entered.


He opened his eyes slightly. “Jen?”

She rushed to his side and hugged him. “Ethan, what happened?” She pulled a chair from the corner of the room over to his bedside.

“I, um, accidentally shot myself in the leg”, Ethan mumbled. “I was trying to pull my gun out of its holster because I thought maybe I had forgotten to put the safety on and it got stuck and I yanked on it and the safety wasn’t on and…Jen, I’m sorry. You were right, I–”

“Shh. Don’t worry about it. Just rest, sweetie. I’m just glad you’re OK.”

He smiled and closed his eyes as she grabbed his hand and squeezed. She really was glad he was OK, and they could talk later, after he was sent home and he wasn’t whacked out on painkillers.

There would be a time for her to give him the “I told you so” lecture about how starting his own security company–when he had, obviously, never even owned or handled a gun before–was a terrible idea. But now was not that time.

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