Synthetic Terror
When I wake up, I am almost drowning in a sea of styrofoam.
My mouth is full of the taste of plastic awfulness.
All I can see is the ceiling.
The rustling of my own treading.
I try to remember where I am, if there was an accident, or if this is punishment.
Maybe I am the recipient of a cruel joke.
After spitting and clearing my throat, I take a few strokes. Palms out.
There is an easy giving way of the chips, I can move.
Deep breath, diving down toward what I hope is the floor. The space between the packing material allows for shallow breathing.
Be calm; be calm, be calm. Unseen objects brush against me. A table, a lamp? Nothing else seems to be moving.
My seeking hands find a doorknob.
I pull, then push away the white crinkling wave
My mouth is full of the taste of plastic awfulness.
All I can see is the ceiling.
The rustling of my own treading.
I try to remember where I am, if there was an accident, or if this is punishment.
Maybe I am the recipient of a cruel joke.
After spitting and clearing my throat, I take a few strokes. Palms out.
There is an easy giving way of the chips, I can move.
Deep breath, diving down toward what I hope is the floor. The space between the packing material allows for shallow breathing.
Be calm; be calm, be calm. Unseen objects brush against me. A table, a lamp? Nothing else seems to be moving.
My seeking hands find a doorknob.
I pull, then push away the white crinkling wave
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Author's Note
Wordprompt of self fantasy. This I see as self-horror. The smell and taste of plastic. Being lost in your own home.
Other stories by kate gillespie
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