Bacteria screams down the walls. I feel myself separate, drunk on the smell of fungus. Breath as manacled as my body.
A rip of velcro is amplified by the darkness. A yellow mask looms over. Injection. Hot. Suffocating. Liquid burns through my veins. Words die within me. Stillness.
A seed is planted in my mind. The roots are fierce, killing my memories. I grasp after the memory of eating potted crab sandwiches with dad while our toes dangle in the sea. Gone.
I can feel it inside me. I’m an echo. Not my words. Not my breath. Inseparable from it.
Highly commended, NYC Midnight Flash Fiction international writing competition
Photo by Jaël Vallée on Unsplash