Alexander Thomas

It Cries. Content Warning.

He wakes up hunched and foetal. Everything smells wrong, too plastic, too new. Someone’s crying behind him. Damp submerged sobs. Female, he thinks. Behind that there’s nothing but acres of silence. A woman peers down at him, encased in a photo. She shines with youth, her smile lights up the frame, giving him the barest niggle of recognition. He tries to sit up but pain flares with each movement. His back feels stretched like there isn’t enough skin. He edges into a seated position, legs flopping over the side, paler than the white duvet. He’s shocked by his nudity. A sinewy body, dotted with wiry black hair, a splash of yellow bruises up one thigh.