I lay there as he cut the back of my neck, my skin dulled with drugs, the radio blaring in the corner, inane twitterings of a radio DJ, adverts for sickly-sweet cooldrinks made to hype up your children and send bursts of caffeine to your heavy brain. The harsh light of the surgery forces its way through my eyelids as I shut them, feeling a pulling and pushing, scalpels, swabs, stitches.
A tinkley song comes onto the radio, stopping the DJ, phew. This sterile place is blocked out. I am in that song, it was written for me, today. I am flung back so fast that it takes my breath away. To my room, the fat, pale moon trails her silvery fingers over my skin, the room glowing.
It takes two to whisper quietly, doesn't it?
1 day ago