The Wind Cries Mary

You’ve got something to say. Never stop writing.

Within the Attic

We all stood in silence around her bed. She didn’t look real to me; her skin was a gray-ish yellow and leathery to the touch. Thick hollow tubes were taped to her mouth, and ran down her throat. The machines behind her bed were a collage of electrical lights — greens, reds, blues, and they all hummed from the electricity flowing through them. Her chest moved up and down with contractions shadowing some of the beeps that were inaudible to her. None of us looked at the other, at least right away. Our focus was on her and the moment we now found ourselves in.

I always knew my mother was going to die someday, but when I was seventeen and still in high school, and a mere six months after my youngest brother took his own life — was certainly shocking to say the least. But not unexpected. You…

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