Literature
Padded Love - Part 3
Consciousness returned to Gabe in fragments, like pieces of a shattered mirror slowly reassembling. The first sensation was the pressure of something firm against his back and bottom, plastic, but molded into a shape that cradled him. The second was the dryness on his face, a tightness across his cheeks and chin that spoke of something sticky that had dried a while ago. He blinked, his eyelids heavy, and found himself staring at a ceiling he didn't recognize from this angle.
A large plastic tray loomed in front of him, attached to armrests on either side. He was in a high chair. An adult-sized high chair, built of sturdy white plastic and chrome, but unmistakably a high chair. His hands rested on the tray, and as he regained motor control, he began to flex his fingers experimentally. They moved slowly, stiffly, and with each movement he became aware of a tacky, gritty sensation.
He lifted his hands and looked at them.
Oatmeal. Dried, clumpy oatmeal covered his palms, his fingers
