(no subject)
He had to stop this. He had to stop things from fading away and then rushing back at him. He had to stop the smotherings and the sinkings and the risings. He had to stop the fear that made him want to yell and holler and laugh and claw himself to death with a pair of hands that were rotting in some hospital dump. He had to get hold of himself so he could think. This had been going on for too long. His stumps were healed over now. The bandages were gone. That meant time had passed. A lot of time. Enough time so that he had to come out of it and think. He had to think of himself of _____ _____ and what he was going to do next. He had to figure things out all over again. It was like a full grown man suddenly being stuffed back into his mother's body. He was lying in stillness. He was completely helpless. Somewhere sticking in his stomach was a tube they fed him through. That was exactly like the womb except a baby in its mother's body could look foward to the time when it would live. He would be in this womb forever and ever and ever. He must remember that. He must never expect or hope different. This was his life from now on every day and every hour and every minute of it. He would never again be able to say hello how are you I love you. He would never again be able to hear music or the whisper of the wind or the chuckle of running water. He never again breathe in the smell of steak frying in his mother's kitchen or the dampness of spring in the air or the wonderful fragrance of sagebrush carried on the wind across a wide open plain. He never again be able to see the faces of people who made you glad just to look at them, of people like _____. He would never again be able to see sunlight or the stars or the little grasses that grow on Colorado hillsides. He would never again walk with his legs on the ground. He would never run or jump or stretch out when he was tired. He would never be tired. If the place where he lay were burning he would simply stay there and let it burn. He would burn up with it and not be able to make a move. If he should feel an insect crawling over the stump of a body that remained he could not move one finger to destroy it. If it stung him he could do nothing to ease the itch except maybe to writhe a little against his covers. And this life wouldn't last only today or tomorrow or until the end of next week. He was in his womb forever. It wasn't any dream. It was real.