There is barely any light here, and never a breeze. Only the occasional thunder of laughter.
The tall doctor comes in the morning and stares at me for a moment, and then writes on a paper attached to a clipboard. He is an American. They all are. I feel small and dark, next to them.
I was part of a negotiation gone awry. The men weren't supposed to let me fall. They were supposed to value the life of my ten year old daughter more than their grievances.
I keep the light turned off, crying out loud when someone barges in and flips the switch. There is a coffee machine around the corner from my room and a huge jug of water that makes bubbling sounds. The nurses on night duty gather there, and sometimes one of them throws open my door with so much force, the light and sound from all of the world come flooding in, killing me.
There is never any wind here, though. Not like that night in the bad lands. Wind like that only happens at the top of the world, never down here, where I am. At the top of the world, only one thing can happen, no matter how it may seem. We can only die, even as we are told to live.
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This post is an entry at Trifecta Writing Challenge.
The deal is that you have to write a piece using the third definition
of a given word in 33 -333 words. You should give it a try, too and
link up here. This week's word is thunder.
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You have a great way of drawing us into your writing. I think it's the details - which ones you choose, and how you use them. The water jug and coffee maker, the bright lights. I really loved that entire last paragraph.
ReplyDeleteStunning - I love the spare description of the doctor; the lush detail of the room.
ReplyDeleteI love how much force the sounds have once she's said that she keeps the light off; really well done.
ReplyDeleteMy heart is sick for this mother, her lost daughter who died at the top of the world, and the doctors who laugh in ignorance of her anguish. Or rather, in oblivion.
ReplyDeleteMy heart is sick for this mother, her lost daughter who died at the top of the world, and the doctors who laugh in ignorance of her anguish. Or rather, in oblivion.
ReplyDeleteThe use of the word is perfect. It immediately brings to mind that sudden elsewhere laughter that we can hear, but aren't a part of. Sort of like her existence in the hospital room.
ReplyDeleteLovely.
Thanks for joining us again. Please come back tomorrow for the next challenge.
Her anguish comes through so well. I like the description of the bubbling water jug.
ReplyDeleteI like all the sounds - it makes the darkness around her more real.
ReplyDeleteamazing, profound, your words encompassed me into the character's circumstance
ReplyDelete-Renada
This was a very touching piece - it was filled with a kind of movement, while the character remained still.
ReplyDelete