I wake up, blinking awareness back into my mind. Sunlight filters through the windows; an undeserved kiss of warmth on my skin. The room is unfamiliar. This bed is not my own; it’s different, soft, comforting. Regret ebbs into my stomach, the sweet, dreaming body beside me is a stranger to me. A face I can't recall. I get up to leave, hoping not to wake them. For them it can still be a dream, for me I know this vicious cycle will repeat. Over and over until it kills me.
About the Creator
Keep reading
More stories from Kevin McLaughlin and writers in Fiction and other communities.
Miniature Mind Musings #8:
Recently, I spoke with a family member who I struggled to catch up with for a longer timespan than I would’ve liked and what struck me was how societal templates filled in on successive days routinely suck our time into a vacuum of seemingly infernal deficiency.
By The Dani Writer6 days ago in Longevity
Comments (1)
Wow, the dark emotion in this is so stark compared to the softness of the bed and the brightness of the day. I like the poetic take on circadian rhythm, like the cycle the speaker is in is its foil. Well done! This is a really good micro fiction.