A Quiet Conversation


“What’s it like?”
“You don’t remember? It’s only been a year.”
“No. I really can’t remember. Except that it used to hurt all the time.”
“I don’t hurt.”
“You don’t always feel the burning of the air in your lungs? Your heart banging away inside your chest and never getting rest? All the acid churning in your stomach? You don’t feel all that?”
“I don’t.  I’m too busy touching things, smelling things, feeling the grass under my feet like now. I don’t pay much attention to the stuff you mention.”
“I miss it. Even though it hurt, I miss it.”



Friday Fictioneers

Thanks to Rochelle for using my photo. I took this at a church graveyard in Red Hook, NY . I wasn’t aware of the figures when I took the picture. It was only when looking at it later that I saw them.