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She wades soundlessly into a deep slumber; the network of dangling tubes and wires casting macabre shadows across her bed, forming a cage of sorts, of which she is trapped willingly. They crawl beneath her skin in search of the delicately snaking blue-green passages, opening up her innards and unleashing chemical composites with unpronounceable names into her like liquid bullets. The ongoing orchestra of the hospital – frantic beeping of monitors, furtive coughs into pillows, crisp instructions from receptionists, murmured greetings or farewells from nurses in uniform and family members garbed in austere hues – navy, steel gray, maroon – all suppressed, muted by the semi-ajar door to her ward.

Beneath her shivering eyelids she is restless; burning, then drowning. She moans lightly and struggles against the wordless restrains of the bed covers. Dreaming, she reaches out and caresses the nebulous water with her eyes, her palms; every particle of her body thrashing out blindly to douse the errant flames that threaten to consume her. She dreams of lust, of vermilion and burnt sienna clouds, of cohorts of raindrops trickling longingly down her neck and vanishing into the intoxicatingly damp-scented earth. She dreams of grass, of iridescent green fields and soaring above with the air whistling in her ears, fingers skimming through the clumps of newborn dew resting precariously on the tips of the blades. She dreams of night, of vast, starless skies tinted fuchsia and indigo that tosses down asphyxiating cloaks of vertigo and exultance, sweeping her into the swirling depths as she raise her head reverently. She dreams of air, of air, of air. . .

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May 2010
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