#124 Pulse

by Amanda Whipp

Blue and red lights pulse rhythmically. From behind the shattered glass window, I watch with detached curiosity as two men in pressed blue uniforms roughly haul you outside.

Bright lights in my vision.

They stop only to force you by your head into one of the waiting cars. The surreal nature of the moment gives it an almost dreamlike quality. Neighbors peek from behind the standard metal doors of their respective motel rooms. They rubberneck in the hopes of a better look at free entertainment.

Everything feels fuzzy.

It’s as if the whole world is becoming that window; the condensation of a late night rain swims in my vision. I turn, far-away panic lighting my movements, and stop at the sight of a figure lying cold and still before me. My hands—clenched fists. My lips—as blue as the strobing lights outside. The blood fanning from the back of my head lends an eerily angelic quality to my snow white skin. I try to cry out, but it is merely a whisper of wind emanating from those cracks that I now know to be a part of me, not that window. The hues of a million thoughts and emotions flash before me. I’m not okay. I’m not . . . Am I?

Footsteps by my head.

The last threads of a fleeting thought:

“Did you kill me this time?”


Anonymous said...

Wow! Powerful

scribbleandedit.blogspot.co.uk said...

I like how you use the second person with first person narrative.

Sarah Laurenson said...

I like the lead up to who is speaking and what's going on with our narrator.