in the night i wake up. samurai are sticking my belly with their razors. i can’t talk, i can’t breathe, i can’t think. it takes an eternity for my hand to find the light. another eternity to turn it on.
i can’t move.
my pills call me from the bag on the floor. it takes all my willpower not to pass out when i get up. i find them – sweet sweet magic pills, but then i can’t get back to bed.
the fire traps me.
in three years time i lie down again. the pain has been going on for
days/my whole life/too long.
i try to pray but all that comes out is ‘stop the pain’ and then my next thought (irrationally) is:
‘how could anybody ever have children? this pain is bad enough.’
i'm sure it’s hardly comparable, but your brain doesn’t exactly work right when you are so in pain that you can’t feel anything.
i am swept away on a tidal wave into the darkness.
in the morning the waves wash me back up on the shore.