operaguy1

The lights- Those blinding lights were unmistakable. I knew exactly where I was. Slowly, careful, I move my fingers, toes, And move cautiously to my limbs. Good. Everything is in tact. I slip my legs off the side of the cold steel table. My feet drop to something wet and sticky. Oh my gosh! It’s blood! I quickly examine my body. No cuts on my arms, none on my legs… There isn’t a scratch on my body. That can only mean one thing… The blood is not my own. But whose is it? Oh well…it doesn’t really matter now. I slip out of the operating room And make my way down the lonely corridor. Whe

That light. I’ve seen it before. Once again I’m under the lights. And once again I’m alone. I move from the table And my feet touch something wet. Slowly, I move my eyes down. Oh my God! It’s blood! I look at my hands, my wrists, anything. Nothing. It’s not my own. Then who’s is it? Who could have lost this much blood. I move from where I am, Unable to take that aweful stench much longer. As I move down the hallway The rectangular lights over heard begin to flicker. The hallway goes dim. People are going by me. An almost endless sea of faces Something is wrong. I see myself in every

 The stark contrasts of the day have been replaced by the softer hues of night. There is no wind tonight. No rustling leaves can be heard in the small park. There is no whispering in the trees. Nothing interesting is happening really. Well, if one determines interesting as anything out of the ordinary that is. The newborn children have long been put into their linen lined cribs and adorned with brand new garments that are more than likely left-over’s from the shower. The old men are sitting in their soft leather high back chairs smoking the familiar tobacco pipe that they have had since the beginnings of tobacco it seems. The streets are