dancarter

Phantom Limbs (Things That Occurred in a Place with No Clocks//01) ‘No…’ The words from my doorway felt like the last gasp of a fire sputtering and collapsing. Two hours ago I was sitting in a conference room, surrounded by reasonable men and women in reasonable suits, saying reasonable things. They were asking me to leave; a drone of voices claiming an inability to help me had come to the conclusion that they were doing more harm then good. Pack tonight, out the door before breakfast. Past the buzz of security lamps, the dirty sun struggled to breach muddied panes. Past the drug line and nurse’s station. Past the threat of the scales, where on Mondays they would strip my gown and pull at black boxer briefs looking for foreign material; returning to my room to gather up everything that had been collected in five long weeks. She stood there, her arm propping her body against the jamb, skin in soft focus, dark crimson framing her face. She seemed more and less than when she arrived; a