I cant seem to wipe away the blood. I rub my hands against my nightgown, but traces of the red remain, staining the lines of my palms and the crescents beneath my fingernails. I wipe harder, gathering and bunching the soft cotton inside my fists. The fabric has been slit up the center and for a moment I worry that Ive been cut, that maybe the blood is my own. I try to ask whats happening, but theres a mask over my mouth and nose. Suddenly it hits meIm in an ambulance.I dont remember how I got here.
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About Paula Stokes, Vicarious
Paula Stokes, Vicarious.