He Lay in Bed
by Cameron Barrett
He lay in bed. At first he tried to remember who he was. Where he was. He could not remember. Nothing. Nada. Zilch. It did not bother him though. He lay in bed. On his stomach, with his face towards the wall. It was a nice wall. Entirely made of cinder block and several coats of fresh paint covered it neatly. He could see where the paint filled the holes in the porous cement and it made him happy. He could not remember the name of the color that the wall was painted, but he knew he liked it even though it hurt his eyes to look at it for too long. He closed his eyes. He slept.
He awoke to the sensation of movement down by his feet. He was still in bed, lying on his stomach, face pointed towards the nice wall. The bedsheets inched away from his head a little bit and he felt a very slight draft drifting down his body. It felt nice. He was shocked when he discovered he couldn't move his arms. How is one supposed to go to the bathroom, he thought, without the use of his arms. He would have shrugged his shoulders if he could have moved them. The covers moved a couple more inches and he felt another cool draft of air. He smiled. He was tired. Soon, he fell asleep.
His eyes opened and the pretty wall was there to meet him. He felt chilly. There was something, an obvious weight, crawling around on the lower part of his legs. He instinctively tried to kick it away, but he could not move his legs. He sighed. The wall sure was pretty. The sheets slowly edged away from him and he felt strangely awake. His heart began to beat extraordinarily fast. Something primordial in his brain triggered an instinctive memory and his eyes grew wide. He remembered. And he fainted.
Again the beautiful wall greeted him and he felt even colder. His brain kicked in and his bowels followed. He wet his pants. He was frightened. His heart was pounding faster and faster. His eyes became very big and he felt a cold, slimy thing slowly twist its way up to between his legs. His covers moved. He was covered in goosebumps. He was scared. He could not move. The pretty wall beckoned him. His covers moved once more.
To pass the time he counted the holes in the cinder block brick by his head. He got as far as five and discovered he could not remember what came next. He frowned and then smiled at the gorgeous wall. It sure was pretty. He felt the covers move and his heart exploded. He remembered. It was back. Or had it even left. He had a headache. It was crawling around near the hole between his legs and his mind could not believe what was happening to him. He screamed for help but his voice was cruelly silent. He tried again. Nothing. He was afraid. It was now halfway up his back and he could feel the weight of it pushing the covers back as it approached. He was cold. He was scared. The wall caught his eye and he smiled.
He could not breath. It had found its way around his neck. He sucked in air heavily but nothing happened. He looked at the wall once more. He remembered his name. What a pretty wall, he thought. He died. A smile on his face.