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|the table (standard:mystery, 437 words)|
|Author: Anonymous||Added: Dec 04 2012||Views/Reads: 3941/0||Story vote: 0.00 (0 votes)|
|A mysterious short story very much left to your own imaginatoion. Not much of a plot but I'm only just starting out.|
The beginning of my life was at the approximate age of 30, when I was discovered paralysed in the middle of a public park, unable to speak. The moment when control was taken out of my own hands and divided unevenly between people I had never known. Control over my bodily functions and internal conditions was taken from me by various and numerous medical professionals. I couldn't piss or eat myself so tubes were inserted through both natural and man-made holes in my skin to release and let in fluids I couldn't have done otherwise. Control over my whereabouts was stolen from me by drivers, men and women, transporting me from building to building to have more and more insertions and alterations to my body, which again, I had no control of. Of course, control over my emotional being was not stolen from me but heavily influenced by those stealing the control of the physical elements about myself. *** A square palm smoothes down her hair and looks down at the eyelids he know will be closed forever. His hard and piercing stare wavers as he glances over the mouth he knows will never grin and the face that will never turn to him when he calls. His mouth curves into a light smile and then a broad one, until he throws back his head and laughs heartily as though the woman laying on the table beside him has just explained a particularly humorous joke. He stops. Stares. And then leaves the room. Another being enters, her presence unnoticeable normally, but completely prominent here. Her slender fingers go to touch her sister's face but instead drop to the scratched, metal surface on which she lays, running the length of the table. Her faint smile is alike to the gentlemen in her place beforehand, but she does not laugh as he had done. Instead she lays her head above her sibling's heart and falls soundly asleep to the sound of her pumping blood. The third and final figure was petite. However she was also slender and elegant, floating straight to the table through the room. When she reaches it, she darts around it, never looking or seeming to acknowledge a body; straight feet and arms blurring into the twists and turns her body makes. She slows but does not stop. Her tears have zig-zagged their way across her face as she moved. Then she collapses in a fragile heap on the floor, clinging tightly to the one of the bars supporting her mother. She whispers something tender into her ear before returning back the way she came. *** Tweet
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