A night image

Posted in Original, Prose, Writing by netscheri on August 18, 2008

He lies awake, spread flat by the sore, gnawing pain. If he had to describe it, he would say that it felt like his bones and muscles and marrow were all twisting, stretching and yearning- They feel like the growing pains the doctor diagnosed him with when he was 13 or 14. But he knows, in the core of his beating, beating heart, that this is something that is beyond a doctor’s white office. How do you describe the sensation of a body become an anachronism out of time? Or is it the mind that is the anachronism? He doesn’t know.


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