Originally written on April 2nd, 2018
Just like that I was in Antarctica
Distant, with nothing but cold surrounding me
It became my prison; no way out
I wasn't left with a choice, my only freedom stripped away from me
I gave up everything
I gave up a part of me to be consumed by the cold
How I miss the sun and its warmth
But I'll never see it again
I could never be home again.
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Reaching Out
I promise her. I'd do anything for her. She's my mom. Even as Lanie and Deanna are flying home, Mom is scrappy fighting dying. She lays too still in that too-big bed with all the toasty white hospital blankets, in the south tower, at the broad end of a long slow-turning corner that delivers me again to her private room with the view she can't see through, with the beeping that tells us nothing new, and all these ice chips she can't swallow, and a flood of well-intentioned nurses who cannot do a damned thing all the same.
By Christy Munson4 days ago in Fiction
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