19
I wake to the sight of an old woman standing over me. She’s a crone, twisted and ancient and alien, a disruption of my reality that lasts a millisecond, but it’s a millisecond that stretches so tortuously over my surprise that I’m able to process so much. It’s seven years ago. I’ve been sent home from work for a few days because I have a bad cold and, after waking around my usual time, have stayed in bed and tried to catch up on sleep. But light’s busting in from the window, and the blinds aren’t that effective. Come the morning, I know about it. Opening my eyes, seeing her,…
Thirteen
Colds don’t usually raze me, but about five or six years ago I caught one that was especially bad. BEST FRIEND sent me home from work with the instruction I stay there until I recovered – she probably didn’t want me spreading it more than anything. I idled around my flat, watched a movie, did some writing, then went to bed. It was my own little holiday. Because I didn’t have to get up for work the next day, I tried to sleep in. I had a big deposit of tiredness that I needed to bank, but even my sleep-ins are restless. I roused briefly around late morning and, in…