Well, the results came back on the MRI of my brain. No cave drawings this time, just an endless black frontier where even the boldest of thoughts dare not go.
About ten years ago, I was diagnosed with apnea and have been tethered to a CPAP machine ever since. Now, they are telling me I need to have another sleep study to determine if adjustments are needed regarding the volume of air pumped into my system. Perhaps they’re onto something as my belly appears to have inflated to the size of a truck tire over the past few years.
If you’re new to Friday Flash Fiction, the hypnotist who waves a new photo on her website every week, causing some of us to doze into dreamland, is Dr. Wilma C. Dement Wisoff-Fields. If you’d like to participate in this exercise of madness, head over to her blog for step-by-step instructions. To view the fashionable CPAP masks of the writers in FFF Hollywood Squares Authors Block click here.
“You’re getting very, very, sleepy.” Professor Dement dangled a wind-up alarm clock in front of my face.
“No, I’m not.”
“Yes, you are. Trust me on this one.”
“Okay. I’ll try.” I faked a yawn and batted my eyelids in slow motion.
“Imagine you’re in a field of soft, green grass, surrounded by yellow flowers.”
“All I’m seeing is skyscrapers and a dirty sidewalk.”
“A beautiful woman is walking toward you. She has something in her hands. A gift of love.”
“It looks like a broom and dustpan.”
“She draws near. Your lips touch.”
The alarm clock jingles.
“Zzzzzzzz . . .”
This week’s post inspired by the Cream song, “Deserted Cities of the Heart”
Horror, Psychological Thrillers, Poetry, Flash Fiction
Stories From Within
Finding ways to make words sparkle
This is the blog of a woman who is seriously on the edge and I mean right ON the edge…no, not there… just a little bit further… further than that…no, further still…just a tiny bit more… just move slightly to the right a little…no, that’s too much…just move a tad to the left…that’s right, just there…now you’ve moved too far to the left… Damn, what part of the ‘on the edge’ do you not understand? Oh, and her matricidal boy genius, come devil spawn.
Or the three people I guilted into reading this blog, whatever.
Growing older is inevitable. Growing up is optional.
I may make you feel, but I can't make you think.
All the Blogging That's Fit To Print
AS I TOLD THE GIRL THAT I LOST MY VIRGINITY TO, THANKS FOR LAUGHING AT ME HERE TODAY.
I don't write, I touch without touching.
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Stylistically Abusing Language for the Betterment of Mankind
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An author's perspective of mystery and more.
And the worst things. And all that weird stuff in between.