I open my eyes again.
I am still staring at that picture.
My nose itches. I look at my hand, and try to lift it.
Nothing happens. Again.
I know the result of my attempts at doing anything-nothing. Everything is futile.
I cannot move anything but my eyes anymore.
I wonder what I would be doing right now if I could move.
My eyelids feel heavy, and start to droop. I give in and close them.
YOU ARE READING
Dream writer
ActionFor all skills, one has to start somewhere. This is my beginning. This is a series of short stories, usually from song lyrics, sometimes from the people I meet and (should I run out of ideas) prompts from Pinterest. There is a common theme and...