Critical Thought: Anemia

We don’t know any more than what’s written. We have a man, a woman, their bed, a sentence. A couch, a lamp, its light, a pillow, time. Everything else, the story, is yours.

Did he leave an indentation? Probably. Is it warm? Depends. How long was he there? Does she curl herself around that dent like an expectant mother brings her knees up to her womb? Maybe. Did I imagine that as I wrote the story, do I imagine that now? I won’t tell you.

Cami Park writes small things various. Her work can be found in places like Quick Fiction, Smokelong Quarterly, Opium, FRiGG Magazine, Hobart, Rumble, Abjective, and elimae. She keeps a blog called Mungo at http://oddcitrus.wordpress.com.

Anemia

"It's been a long time since I've been on the right side of anything," he told her, and left her bed for the familiar couch. His bedside lamp projected light like a rich saucer of cream onto the ceiling of the dim room, spilling some in a yellowish pool onto his pillow. It was a long time before she reached over and switched it off.

by Cami Park