ou wake in the hospital, its antiseptic stench punching your raw nose. An invisible doctor pronounces you lucky to be alive, says you’ve been in a coma for ten days, cautions that there is little hope of saving your eyesight. You stop listening to the medical jargon detailing your cranial trauma; you know you’ll survive with strength and humor intact, but this loss, not being able to read or write…you stop short of complaining it isn’t fair and hold your breath, try to block out the vaporous words of the doctor, deprive them of meaning.

Days later there is only quiet acquiescence when they remove the bandages and you find yourself mired in the mud puddle of your vision.

 

Complete story forthcoming in So Fey.

 

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