Laying Down

Ahfl_icon Author: THX 0477 Dr. Tim's Neurotic Rules of Ficly Life [Disclaimer: This is not intended to be binding nor in any way an expectation of general members of Ficly, league members, family members or wearers of Member's Only jackets] ... Read Bio

I lay down. It’s a bad idea, as the odds of getting up again seem to reduce each time. That’s not in any way some dramatic allusion to death, just a statement as to the vitality and reliability of my joints.

The ceiling should be blank. It isn’t. That Cockney hooligan from round the corner pinned a Van Gogh print there after I mentioned how much I stare at it. He seemed to think he was helping, but bugger all if I understand a word he says. His mum probably puts him up to checking on me.

I breathe. Each breath is a mild surprise and disappointment, both in quality and that it comes at all. My eyes wander through the colors of the painting. Colors, that’s all it is, you see. The thing’s too small, and I can’t see that far. He means well, the stupid git.

In time, the painting envelopes me, a rush of color and warmth. As dreams go it’s lovely, makes me feel free, young almost. I follow. I go. I float. There is no resistence in me, not to any dream or whatever fantasy this is.

I smell lillies.

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Comments (2 so far!)

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  1. Avatar Ross MacKenzie Crawford

    Thanks for writing a sequel! I’m really impressed by your interpretation, it moves in a much lighter and optimistic direction than I’d have thought possible.

    I love the idea of escapism being possible even in the direst of circumstances.

  2. Avatar 32 ^2

    I read this as if I was floating above him. I stared down at the story. Love it.

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