A Viral Digression



A shape in the darkness, the clocks all whisper lies.

Shattered stories, ephemeral as old cigarette smoke, drift and fade as I grip the doorway.

The cold rams me down, shoulders spasming, leg just dead weight as I try and remember when I am.

I breathe slowly, easing before the cold hits again, my eyes like burning embers as I fall.

Pulling myself off the tiles I await the third wave’s arrival, my teeth chattering…


Savoring how life must feel to the dead.



  1. Spends a wish on making you well

  2. Och! I can see that I need to pack my medical bags and come care for you, me dear. Never fear, I shall bring plenty of uisge beatha.

    I *am* sorry to hear that the real you is feeling so ill. Sending your typist healing thoughts from miles away.


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