I am asleep. There are wisps of dreams, but nothing to hold onto. It’s peaceful, like the moments of silence after the TV’s turned off and it was quite too loud to begin with.
The sounds come first – a lulling chatter of whispers fade in like the dramatic transition of a Broadway musical number. My hear appears in my chest, thudding, slowly, reminding. I am alive.
I have legs again. They’re too cold. The memory of who I am creeps across me like goosebumps. I have a back – it’s having a good stretch. I have feet – they’re mildly aching. I have eyes. I drag them open.
“I think I’m going to faint,” I declare to the wide-eyed circle of crepe shop patrons from the floor.
Short Stories
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