The Rightest Wrong

Waking up from sleep is normal. Most people do it every day. Dragging yourself out of a coma-like state is not normal.

The brain is "like a computer" apparently. I'd had Dr Pepper poured on the keyboard of mine, and then it was chucked out of a window.

This waking up is disorientating. The short term memory is shot to pieces, which makes things more confusing.

Doctors were reluctant for me go to home. They wanted to ensure I wouldn't be alone, and I had no idea where Michael was. My phone sat dark and silent on my bedside table.

Dread plucked at me. This was wrong. Of course it was, what with the Dr-Pepper-keyboard-brain situation... but it was more than that. There was a whole other layer of wrongness.

When I went home, it was eerily quiet. Michael still wasn't answering my calls, nor responding to any messages.

I sat in the silence of the too-big house. Empty rooms flung accusations. Countertops glared. I was being punished, and I couldn't remember why. Was it justified? I didn't know whether to be mad or sad or something else.

The one memory I had was fuzzy one, glimpsed through half-shut eyes. Someone leaving. Was that real? Was it Michael? It must've been.

The other memories were obviously dreams, because of how everything shifted, mist-like. How I kept getting put back in place, like a malfunctioning computer game. I knew because I'd never kissed Alex, so that couldn't have been real. It had felt real, surrounded by tugging, swirling clouds...

I could call my parents, or my friends, but I'd have to admit he'd left me, probably. I wasn't ready. The prospect of their questions, (that I wouldn't be able to answer), made me cringe. I wanted to call my kids, but I had no idea what I'd say. What did they know? What did they think? Had I don't something really bad? Maybe they wouldn't want to talk to me.

I was going crazy inside my head. There was one person I could think of to reach out to. It felt wrong, but also like the rightest wrong. It made me uncomfortable that this wrongness was starting to become home.

"Hey. I'm home from the hospital. You free for a chat?"

ALEX: Sure.

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Word count excluding note: 366

Submitted on Tuesday 2nd July at 


*Quick Author's Note*

First, and most importantly: thank you so much for reading my story! The ha'penny that Vocal will toss in my hat for your eyeballs landing on this humble piece will be well-spent.
If you enjoyed this one, the very best compliment you can give me is to share it, or read another!
A Year of Stories: I'm writing a story every day this year. This one continues my 183 day streak since 1st January.


Please do consider lending your support to the other creators who are also on this madcap "a story every day" adventure. They are putting out excellent content every day!
Rachel Deeming
Gerard DiLeo
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The story behind the story: I always try to write these so they can be enjoyed as stand-alone stories, but you can also read this as a follow on from these:













Thank you!

Thank you again, most sincerely. Especially if you are one of the wonderful people who has been staunchly reading these daily scribbles since the start of the year. I see you, and appreciate you very much indeed! 😁

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