Where I am. My body is hollow and my head is filled with cement: a toothpick supporting a bowling ball. I cannot speak but my hand is raised. I just ate a candy that immediately broke down and withered away in my mouth. I want to run but my body wants me to stay put. My legs will only carry me in a circle that starts and ends in the same place. I am sitting in the front row but my view is from the back.
Where am I? I am banished from a place I swore I would never return to. I am hiding from the people whose presence I cannot stand but I do not have the nerve to tell them. But I am also chasing the people I love though I know they will never feel the same. Saying a love is unrequited is the same thing as saying a person is floating while swimming.
Where I am. I am crying silent tears in a public place, blaming myself for hearing the word that single-handedly clogged my throat with tears when it could not be avoided.
Where am I? I am wearing a jacket that I wore to a museum. And at that museum, one particular exhibit reminded me of my fear of blindness and my distrust of sight. I have a song in my head and deaf fingers. I am a pencil with no lead but an unused eraser.
And I don't know where I am.
YOU ARE READING
Living Dreams
Short StoryThese are all of my one-part short stories. I hope you like them. They can be read in any order.
