Sterile

Statuesque. Cradiling mortality. Watching drywall become constellations. ~ Blue bonnet fields taller than he's ever seen the wind makes them all dance ~ Sterile conversations Latex gloves snapping in unison Clapping for the waking dreamer "He's not out of the woods, yet" ~ Voices intermingled Rushed movements Erratic beeps. "Steady" Crimson trickles down his chest. The only feeling left. ~ Smiling faces- blurry, unfamiliar. "Rest now. We'll answer anything you want. But, for now. You need to be still." He fights the urge to break free of Intervenous shackles. Run back to the blue bonnet field. Where he remembered who he was. -James Kelley 2019