Under Anesthesia
This story is in its very earliest stages, and is an experiment in more impressionistic writing.
Grey morning spreads across the kitchen in a flat wash of light. The kettle screams, the pitch launching green shards inside my skull. On the laptop, messages ping one after another, yellow flashes in my mind. The inbox spills over in sharp bursts of white noise. Coffee drips bitter into the pot. I swallow pills with the first mouthful. They taste chalky and dry.
