"Half-Remembered Things " drabbles by Samuel Sutton

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Morphine

Half-Remembered Things

No doubt, the old man was dying. His son was in the corridor, talking about hospice with an old nurse. Sarah watched the charade, disinterested. She may have been young, but she knew well enough that the old man's life would be better measured with a wristwatch than with a calendar. And, she was counting on it. The sooner he died, the sooner she could sleep. The very thought of it was inviting, heavy, and intoxicating. "Morphine," she mumbled to herself. Letting her mind go, it drifted and wandered, wild with visions - fantastic and perverse, of how things would unfold.

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Graffiti

Half-Remembered Things

Our eyes met, but we didn't speak. We exchanged glances and smiled at our little game. The sun was setting, golden rays hanging in the humid air. I stood up to leave. She watched me closely, smiling. I scribbled a note on the table. I looked at her, and at what I'd written. I smiled too, licked my thumb and I wiped it all away. Nothing left but a smudge and the first letter of my first name. She mouthed something, silently. Walking away, I strained my ears. Quiet, but for my own footsteps. Still, I smiled at our game.