She looked at the glass scattering across the floor. The shimmering tones of silicone on terra-cotta. A frown creased her brow as pieces skittered and spun, flinging off sharp sparks of light. This wasn’t the first nor the last, but damn, she hated to be reminded of such things.
Turning she glanced at the hand hanging insolently over the arm of the chair, unaware or uncaring of what happened on the chipped and cracked floor below. She wanted to feel anger, the heat of blood rising to her cheeks as it did so long ago, instead she sighed and careful made her way to the broom closet, being sure not to disturb the figure slumped in his chair. The shards glittered like lost diamonds again the black dust pan, somehow enhanced by the thin coat of dust which swirled between the jagged pieces. Taking a deep breath, she slowly stood, careful not to tip her hand and release the wreckage once again.
She emptied the pan, wiped it clean and returned it to it’s place along with the broom. She let her eyes close for a moment before closing the door and turning to place a thin, blue veined hand upon his shoulder, feeling his bone thin frame through his house coat.
Looking down at his face, relaxed now but still handsomely rugged to her fading sight, she spoke softly.
“Take him,” she told the figure waiting in the doorway.