Feb 27, 2006 08:22
Rusty
He woke up in a hospital bed with everybody telling him he was lucky not to lose his fingers and toes. He remembers sitting in the guards’ office drinking coffee and thinking he should do his rounds. Then nothing.
He goes back to the job, but it’s not the same. He’s always cold. He used to bring a sandwich to eat while reading the paper; now he heats some soup to scalding just so he can wrap his hands around the cup. It’s not enough.
He walks the echoing halls more slowly, more cautiously. He doesn’t know what’s out there.