Jaden Cruz
Man in Bed The Man in the Bed abruptly woke up in a room with no memory of what existed in the past or future of this moment. For all he knew, none of it existed at all. Each attempt to grasp at the past slipped through his fingers and he struggled to recollect it. He was a man dying of thirst, but the water he sought would leak through his hands before it could reach his mouth. Looking out at the unfamiliar room before him, he struggled to find the names of the objects in the room. It was much easier to write them off as oblong shapes, but he found himself attempting to find their names anyway—despite its futility, which even he was aware of. The whole ordeal was making his eyes hurt. They were tired and wanted only rest. So, in order to appease their earnest protest, the man turned away from the room and the questions it asked of him. He was now faced with a cool blank wall that stood to his immediate left, and allowed his eyelids the peaceful indifference they pleaded for. He spent a few moments studying the wall, almost as if it was a piece of scripture. In fact, one could argue the calmness and serenity offered to his suffering eyelids was comparable to divine salvation
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