Kim's Ramblings

            Terri awoke to stabbing pain behind her right eye. She raised her hand to her temple, felt a slight tug, and blinked at the IV needle in her wrist. Fighting to focus her heavy-lidded eyes, she could see the double layers of clear tape that held it neatly in place. What? Where am I?             “Where am I?” she croaked, the sound barely audible through her dry, irritated throat. Her parched lips stuck to her teeth. She raised her head a few inches and looked around, seeing no one. Bright light glared in the small cubicle where she lay on a gurney surrounded by beige curtains.             She could see that she was in a hospital. The fog in her brain, sore throat, and pain told her something had happened. Something bad. She fumbled around the edge of the bed for a call button, but found nothing. “Hello? ...

The cactus died today. Following just a week after the loss of the cat, it seemed sadder than necessary. Though she never really cared for the cactus, she'd learned to love the cat. The double loss drove home the fact that there is not one single living thing left that has ever lived in this house. Other than her, of course. The recent ones she knew of first-hand. The sweet little old lady died from a sudden aneurysm. The gruff but kind-hearted old man grieved himself into a heart attack not a year later. Earlier inhabitants are all gone too - cancer, car wreck, even a suicide. Maybe not suspicious, but certainly unnerving when she thinks about it. Especially if the thinking about it occurs in the middle of the night, when sleep plays hide-and-seek and old houses creak and groan. Distant thunder grumbles. She fluffs her pillow and turns it over for what must have been the hundredth time. She ignores the red numbers glowing from the clock on the nightstand.  She doesn’t eve...