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FICTION: SUPINE BY A. A. GARRISON  

Posted by Scott Wilson

One.

Two.

Three.

Four.

Francis prayed his prayer.

Twelve.


Thirteen.


Fourteen.


Fifteen.

Nothing happened.

Twenty.


Twenty-one.


Twenty-two.


Twenty-three.

Thoughts of the accident: the plangent crash, the glass cool on his face, that tectonic shift in his neck. He blinked, because nothing else worked.

Thirty.


Thirty-one.


Thirty-two.


Thirty-three.

His leg itched, still. He wanted to tell someone. Needed to.

Forty-one.


Forty-two.


Forty-three.

A nurse squeaked past, but he couldn't tell her.

Fifty.


Fifty-one.


Fifty-two.

He wanted to scream, but he couldn't do that either. He blinked instead.

Fifty-three.


Fifty-four.


Fifty-five.

He prayed again.

Fifty-six.


Fifty-seven.


Fifty-eight.


Fifty-nine.

The second-hand passed the twelve, and Francis was still breathing, so he prayed more.

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This entry was posted on Saturday, March 12, 2011 at 3:51 PM . You can follow any responses to this entry through the comments feed .

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