A funny thing about sickness is that it likes waking up unanswered questions. I’m sprawled out mimicking the idyllic stance of an otter glistening on a hot wet log. I feel you wiping my drool away. It’s another afternoon throbbing with delirium where you’re sure you heard someone screaming in the distance. Or was it just the heat? Regardless, the wind will quiet it all away. Someone is always going to be begging and someone will never be saved. The phone is ringing again. You keep hanging it up. What’s the point of origin? To all this. Take a break from those silly questions and sleep, you say. But they’re all I see in these mirage-infected forced naps. I’m lost in all the blood I could spill and you’re going crazy asking: Where are the bodies then? and I’m going crazy asking: Can’t you see them? The chair is empty. I’m sure you were right there. How long have I been alone?
You can find the prompt list for Escapril here!