"She sometimes imagined that she could hear the corpuscles knock on the valves, polite as old nuns, before sweeping in with their sacred bath of life."
This is a line I wrote for my short story, called Breathless. It is the post-apocalyptic tale of a woman, a mechanical egg, and how the fear of losing hope can prevent a person taking necessary risks. At least, that's what my story is about.
Prompt: What about yours?