the table (standard:mystery, 437 words)
Author: Anonymous	Added: Dec 04 2012	Views/Reads: 5606/2	Story vote: 0.00 (0 votes)
A mysterious short story very much left to your own imaginatoion. Not much of a plot but I'm only just starting out.

The beginning of my life was at the approximate age of 30, when I was
discovered paralysed in the middle of a public park, unable to speak. 
The moment when control was taken out of my own hands and divided 
unevenly between people I had never known. 

Control over my bodily functions and internal conditions was taken from
me by various and numerous medical professionals. I couldn't piss or 
eat myself so tubes were inserted through both natural and man-made 
holes in my skin to release and let in fluids I couldn't have done 
otherwise. Control over my whereabouts was stolen from me by drivers, 
men and women, transporting me from building to building to have more 
and more insertions and alterations to my body, which again, I had no 
control of. Of course, control over my emotional being was not stolen 
from me but heavily influenced by those stealing the control of the 
physical elements about myself. 

*** 

A square palm smoothes down her hair and looks down at the eyelids he
know will be closed forever. His hard and piercing stare wavers as he 
glances over the mouth he knows will never grin and the face that will 
never turn to him when he calls. His mouth curves into a light smile 
and then a broad one, until he throws back his head and laughs heartily 
as though the woman laying on the table beside him has just explained a 
particularly humorous joke. He stops. Stares. And then leaves the room. 


Another being enters, her presence unnoticeable normally, but completely
prominent here. Her slender fingers go to touch her sister's face but 
instead drop to the scratched, metal surface on which she lays, running 
the length of the table.   Her faint smile is alike to the gentlemen in 
her place beforehand, but she does not laugh as he had done. Instead 
she lays her head above her sibling's heart and falls soundly asleep to 
the sound of her pumping blood. 

The third and final figure was petite. However she was also slender and
elegant, floating straight to the table through the room. When she 
reaches it, she darts around it, never looking or seeming to 
acknowledge a body; straight feet and arms blurring into the twists and 
turns her body makes. She slows but does not stop. Her tears have 
zig-zagged their way across her face as she moved. Then she collapses 
in a fragile heap on the floor, clinging tightly to the one of the bars 
supporting her mother. She whispers something tender into her ear 
before returning back the way she came. 

***


Tweet