She lay on her back, her hands resting flat on her chest, fingers lightly pressing against the curves of her ribs. The flesh right under the skin of her right hand was gently pulsing, beating with a rhythm that was being borne from below. It was striking against her breathing, sometimes in time with an exhalation, and sometimes out of sync. Strange that the heartbeat could be felt so strongly towards the right of her ribcage, so far from where her heart was supposed to be. It was a heartbeat foretelling a heart straining to burst out, to beat independently and strike the air with even marching beats.
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