Asleep

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  • Dedicated to joe
                                    

She laid in her motorized bed, the unwatched television flickering at her side. She didn't know how long she'd been there, but it seemed like a long time. All around her were very old people, even though she knew she was young. The Facility kept her close, and even though They decorated it for the seasons and brought her food three times a day, she hated it. Her escape attempts were always immediately discovered and thwarted; her limbs felt heavy and uncoordinated, and most of the time she was confined to her bed, making discreet movement impossible. Most days were spent in interminable waiting, though what she was waiting for she couldn't remember.

Her mother was nearby, she was sure of it. When They occasionally hoisted her out of her bed into a wheelchair, she could wheel herself around the floor, searching. The only thing she wanted was to go back to her family.

Most days, people came and talked to her, but she didn't have much desire to see them or talk to them. These people came from outside the Facility, judging by their outdoor clothing, but her visitors didn't seem to understand that she wanted to leave with them. She was bored by the photo albums in her room, but was shown them again and again. Most days, a familiar man would come to visit-a familiar man who kissed her and called her "honey," who told her that he loved her with a French accent. She knew she was young, but some part of this old French man tugged at her heart in an unexpected way. It was the times that she was with him that made her feel truly alive.

Months passed. The leaves fell off the trees outside the window. The French man had stopped coming to visit her, and though she couldn't remember his name, she felt wistful for the summer days she'd spent with him. Her energy lagged, her already-heavy limbs feeling heavier every day. She didn't leave her bed any more, but the television still flickered in the corner to keep her company.

Her occasional visitors spoke words of comfort, but she no longer had the energy left to speak with them. Sleep beckoned.

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