Scars by James Smith

    
             The alarm blared endlessly. Mike Kelly tried to hit the snooze button, but wasn’t able to maneuver his arm to the right angle. “Let me get it honey”, His wife, Gayle said.  “You have a big day ahead of you.”  He sat up in bed, rubbing his left arm; phantom nerves twitching in the area that was once his hand; only a scar remaining as a reminder. In the morning rush, filled with coffee...