He lies there, tightened against the restraints
and neck brace that choke his sobs into an
IV drip, controlled. I leave him with the
cold white lab coats, eyeing his affliction.
I head to waiting, plastic chairs. My eyes
fluttering back, forth slowly rest on his
door. Three-oh-five. Taut fluorescence tingles
my mind, hazes. I slosh through all the hows,
the wheres, the whens, drifting out of focus
Back, sober, still kicking shoe scuffs that sheen
somehow. He lies on the other side. I
feel fear, an anachronism in this
chemical sterility. Soon white lab
coats, dark eyes, drift over. Hushed tones whisper
paralysis. The floor rocks forward, jerks
me loose of these iced theatrics. I can
only see my little brother, fearful
tears. Intercom crackles a stale death wish
as I notice myself slip, like shifting
sediments of stone, split by disaster.
Focus. I'm older. I have to smile when
they wheel him by. He'll see my eyes and know.
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