The room was dim with the meekly light of a single lamp on the nightstand. The woman sat up from her bed of pins and needles, conceding to the insomnia whom she spent her nights with. She peered over at the clock, but could only see a haze of blurred green lines.
When was the last time she'd slept? Monday? Thursday? Or perhaps she had never slept at all. Nia pushed herself off the bed, unable to shake the agonizing pain in her limbs. Her skin was coated in a sheen of sweat, and there was no feeling in her feet. As she lowered herself onto the motel carpet, the aging fibers greeted her with a sour scent.
With blurred vision and numbed feet, she could only rely on her hands. Slowly, they traced the familiar path towards the nightstand, gently pulling out a drawer, and extracting the small cylinder from within.
Nia's wrist hung atop the drawer for a moment. Or maybe an eternity. Her mind was in unrelenting chaos— tormented by the noises of the city, bygone conversations, lingering resentment, and something resembling insanity.
Nia looked into her palm at the small dot. In that moment, she could see it clearly. The pale blue of the morphine pill: odorless, tasteless, and nearly colourless. She thought back to the doctor's visit, and the pregnancy test.
Her trance was broken by a tear that fell into her palm. But the pill was already gone. And she felt herself swallow.
YOU ARE READING
2021 Writing
Ficção GeralI've challenged myself to try and write (not every single day because I have miserably failed T_T) consistently in 2021. Hope to cultivate my craft as a writer! c :
