The Blue, The Light and The Flickering Shadows
By Andrea Damic
You watch them move, almost in unison, back and forth, as the airflow startles them. Yellow light makes lambent contours underneath. All you see is the blue, the light and the flickering shadows swinging back and forth as your head falls down and you lose consciousness.
You are falling through a rabbit hole, like Alice in Wonderland. Falling into abyss. Faster and faster. You look for something to grab on to, to slow your downward spiral, but the walls are glossy black, smooth and curvy. For some reason you feel like a bob racer without a bobsled and you fall, with no end in sight. Out of the blue, you reach the bottom. The landing’s not too rough. It can be described as a minor car crash.
Suddenly, you hear your name. You don’t understand where it’s coming from. There’s the gnawing sensation at the back of your head, but it hurts to remember. As you search through the murkiness of your brain, you hear your name again. Gradually you look up, tired with questions in your eyes as the nurse responds: “Surgery went well. Get some rest now.” Confused you wonder why she woke you up in the first place. Sleeping was good. No memory of what was, just a deep sleep.
Glancing at your limp body covered in a white johnny, you remember thinking how all these strangers are gonna see your ignominiously exposed backside. Medications they gave you are still working. You are here but you are not here. Only a broken shell wrapped up as a birthday present, waiting for the Jack-In-The-Box moment.
As you are lulled into unconsciousness you see the blue hospital curtains continuing their dance, back and forth, back and forth. All these tiny inconspicuous ripples of air caused by doctors, nurses and occasional visitors, rarely patients. Before journeying to Dreamland again, you gaze at the nurse’s face, avoiding your eyes. Your eyelashes say goodbye to the light’s wavering shadows and you think about the ocean and the sun on your skin. Serene, tranquil thoughts to keep you docile, to prevent you from screaming as flashes of the accident invade your consciousness.
Grateful for the medications, you continue your journey into abyss. Deep down you know you’ll have to face it, but not now, it is too raw. Feeling him gone is too unthinkable.
THE END
Author Bio: Andrea Damic's work appears or is forthcoming in Roi Fainéant Press, Door Is A Jar Literary Magazine, The Elpis Letters, The Dribble Drabble Review, 50 Give or Take (Vine Leaves Press) Anthologies, Your Impossible Voice, The Centifictionist, Spillwords and elsewhere. You can find her on TW @DamicAndrea or linktr.ee/damicandrea.