A.M.

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Used to be the first thing she would reach for was a cigarette. She never smoked in bed but the stick fresh out of its pack was a lure to the fish in her that swam in dreams that were part past, part future, and part fiction. She took notes when the dreams were safely in today’s net. She sat in bed with her yellow pad and her cigarette. The yellow pad was tattooed with a fierce cursive writing that only she could read, like code, and the cigarette dangled between her lips. Every morning she wrote, without thought, with no concern for whoever slept beside her, ignorning a physical hunger that pawed her, gently it’s learned to do this because her body knows its place.

Then one day she woke as if from a deep sleep in space. There was nothing in her dreams but blackness, soothing her into the day and she no longer craved her cigarettes. She lay in bed half curious why she felt empty, unable to recall what she had lost. Was it her car keys? Did she leave them at the coffee shop yesterday? She reached for her pillbox perched where her cigarettes once did and dry swallowed a small pink thing. Her life’s been less bleak since she was given them, but something was missing, something that was caught in her mind-teeth.

literary lion: morning

About listentothebabe

writing is the teeth that gnaw on my bones.

15 comments

  1. That something was not missing. That something was hidden by her rolled mind-tongue.

    Liked by 1 person

  2. “Mind-teeth”. Wish I’d thought of that…

    Liked by 1 person

  3. Beautiful. Love the twist in this. I hate chemicals, such a mask.

    Liked by 1 person

  4. Andy

    So does she need a little chaos in life to write? Or is it just a different type of words that form?

    Liked by 1 person

  5. Hmmm… I look at my yellow pad… and my hellish handwriting… How did you know? 😯

    Liked by 1 person

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