#17: Prosthetics, part 2

Outside, clouds drift across the sky. The light in the room keeps changing, a glow behind my eyelids, then darkness, then the red glow again. I think of the way I used to lie under the sky, looking up at the passing clouds, thinking of all the places they've been, all the places they were going.

I just want to sleep. I just want to be away.

I can't help but to feel like it's his fault. I mean, I know that it's not. I know that there wasn't much he could have done. But I also can't help but to think that he's waiting on me now, hand and foot, out of guilt.

Every time I think I will drift off, that damn bird starts singing again. The chirping, almost a clicking, is jarring enough to keep me awake every time I think I might escape.

The pills will help. I finally open my eyes to see him.

"Do you hear the bird?"

"No," I say. His attempts at conversation are so tedious.

There's an itch on my leg again. I reach down, reminded again of the accident, when it's not there to scratch.

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