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‘The Sound’ 100 Word Story
Three months on my back.
Thirty percent of my insides removed.
Hot tropical summer wind.
Pain medication unfocuses my senses.
The wheelchair bumps over the concrete seeding spasms throughout my body.
Smelling bandages, antiseptic, tape, and open wounds.
Incoherent talk, incoherent answers.
The left tire squeaks, the right tire whines.
The electric doors scream as they open.
Angels whisper to me, I begin crying, and I look around for this wonderful sound.
My family ask what’s wrong, I beg to know what that sound is I hear but they can’t.
A bird hops toward me and tells me.