Thick fingers grip my throat.
Cold settles around me,
The dark keeps me company.
Though I was sure I shut the door before I slept,
Dark shadows lean in,
I stumble to my feet, shut the door,
Keep those shadows out,
But when I turn the door is open again.
Did I imagine closing the door?
I go back and listen.
Sounds like a hacking cough,
Just like my own.
But there’s no one else here,
except sickness.
Categories: Short Stories
Heh, I currently happen to have a bad cough and a sore throat, so your descriptions are a little too relative for comfort at this moment. 🙂 Interesting how many sicknesses came to my mind that would fit that description, though — physical and mental. Nice double-entendre.
LikeLiked by 1 person
I had a cough and a sore throat when I wrote this – have to make the most of a bad situation! 😀
LikeLiked by 1 person