by Amanda Inman The room quivered like rising heat on asphalt. Mary gripped the edge of the counter, dropping the spoon she was using to stir green beans. Tiny black spots crowded her vision like a swarm of gnats and caused the trees outside her window to look like ghosts. She held on tighter, but her grip gave way and her hand hit the metal pot on the stove on her way to the floor. A searing pain gripped her hand and shot through her arm and she couldn't help but cry. She screamed behind closed lips. Needle-like pain pricked her arm, but she couldn't get up from the floor to run her hand under cold water. She saw her husband pushing himself toward her in his walker. His face wrinkled and his glasses intensified his wide eyes. “Honey, what happened?” he asked, coming to her side. “I’m all right,” she said as she tried to get up from the floor. “Just have a little burn is all.” She covered her burn with her other hand. “Let me see,” he said, trying to help her up. She took her left hand off and revealed the burn. Her skin was raised and red, and torn in

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