Written for the Daily Flash Fiction Challenge with a word limit of 300.
The prompts: Story must be about someone waking up from a coma.
Out of Place
Squinting through wrinkled eyes, the old man leaned over the sink to get a better look at the stranger in the reflection. He touched the sagging skin on his face, his soft hand sensitive to the stubble growing there. The reflection mimicked his motions perfectly.
The doctors said that it had been thirty years since he had processed a conscious thought. Maybe that was it; his brain was playing tricks on him. Surely he would see familiarity in the eyes, the window to his soul. If he was truly there, in that body, then the eyes would tell.
Brushing back his long graying hair, he looked deeper into the reflection, but alas, all that looked back were tired, yellowed lenses. No, that was not him. He was not the frail, spindly-armed old man in the mirror; of that he was certain.
This was not his place, his time or his body. This must be the work of the sorcerer he had locked away in the tower.
Making use of the walker, he made his way back to the bed and climbed in. As he slowly closed his eyes, a look best described as satisfied determination shaped his features.
The king’s eyes opened to a clear blue sky as he gasped for air. His mount stood nearby, the Dark Knight was even closer with a sword raised overhead for the final blow. The king moved quickly, sweeping the Dark Knight off of his feet with his legs. The advantage was now his, and the king quickly dispatched the usurper.
The doctors entered the small room at the end of the long corridor to find their declaration of a miraculous awakening a bit premature. The patient had slipped back into his coma. The only change was the smile on his face.
The prompts: Story must be about someone waking up from a coma.
Out of Place
Squinting through wrinkled eyes, the old man leaned over the sink to get a better look at the stranger in the reflection. He touched the sagging skin on his face, his soft hand sensitive to the stubble growing there. The reflection mimicked his motions perfectly.
The doctors said that it had been thirty years since he had processed a conscious thought. Maybe that was it; his brain was playing tricks on him. Surely he would see familiarity in the eyes, the window to his soul. If he was truly there, in that body, then the eyes would tell.
Brushing back his long graying hair, he looked deeper into the reflection, but alas, all that looked back were tired, yellowed lenses. No, that was not him. He was not the frail, spindly-armed old man in the mirror; of that he was certain.
This was not his place, his time or his body. This must be the work of the sorcerer he had locked away in the tower.
Making use of the walker, he made his way back to the bed and climbed in. As he slowly closed his eyes, a look best described as satisfied determination shaped his features.
The king’s eyes opened to a clear blue sky as he gasped for air. His mount stood nearby, the Dark Knight was even closer with a sword raised overhead for the final blow. The king moved quickly, sweeping the Dark Knight off of his feet with his legs. The advantage was now his, and the king quickly dispatched the usurper.
The doctors entered the small room at the end of the long corridor to find their declaration of a miraculous awakening a bit premature. The patient had slipped back into his coma. The only change was the smile on his face.
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