Friday, April 6, 2012

Today's Written Shiat

Drowning in his own sputum he looks around at the people lying in the beds next to him. The rows of beds and their patients remind him of the garden he tended as a young boy. Each person a rotting carrot, their taproot bodies eaten from within like burrowing rabbits below. The consumption is slow and agonizing. The man looks up and sees the city of shining quartz. The city has been calling to him for some time. His neighbor in the bed not an arm's length away coughs loudly. The spasms racking his body from expelling the tiny bits of pink lung and mucus shakes the whole bed and nearly jitters the bedpan from the night stand. The other patient examines the product of his efforts that have been deposited on the hand towel. The city fades away as the man fades back into a laudanum induced oblivion. Some day...