by garland middleton
I’m lying in bed and my perspective is that of one point. I am stuck. I am moaning and all I hear are the neighbors next door. Moaning. Joyously. While I am here with my dog throwing up next to me and my head exploding with infectious mucus and the phone has fallen on the ground far away-too far to reach. Am I dying? I’m dying. What is that light-that bright orange light coming from my front door? What the fuck is that light doing on? Did I turn it on? Is that even a normal light or is someone shining a flashlight in on me. The world’s biggest, brightest flashlight is shining on me, the thing is huge and brother believe it is bright. I must be dying. Years later I’ll look back at this, yes I will still be alive because I, in fact am not dying, and I will say wow, that was some infection. Everything is so distorted through the fever that I am carrying. The flames of this disease are taking over my mind, my spinal cord. I go to the doctor a few days later and she literally says holy shit when she looks up my nose to see blood and neon green mucus. Meningitis she says. Oh fuck that’s why I’m in such a bad mood. My mom thinks I’m rebelling but I’m not, I’m just tired and shit ma, I got meningitis. You should be saying how much you love me, saying your good byes. This is it mom, I’m dying. You’re not dying dear. What? I am. The doc says I’m dying. No dear, she says you could have gotten close to death, how’s your back feel? It fucking hurts I have fucking meningitis what’d you think? Shit I never cleaned up my dogs throw up-it’s just sitting there drying in the floor; the floor of my “one bed-room” shit ain’t a one bedroom. More like a studio. And what the fuck was that bright light? I never got that answered.

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