Flash! Fiction by Peter McMillan - HTML preview
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41
Tina woke up in a strange bed—alone. The bed was firmer than hers, but it was warm and comfortable. On the opposite wall, two oil portraits flanked a cumbrous television on top of a wide, low dresser.
No mirror. The blinds on the window were closed. It was quiet. But it smelled good—like her grandmother’s freshly washed linen.
Her throat was dry and she reached for a plastic water bottle, but there was only an empty glass tumbler with an upside down toothbrush in it. She started at that. On the other bedside table were pills of various shapes and colours, pigeonholed by day of the week in a plastic dispenser. There was water, a pitcher of it with ice cubes and a small fruit juice glass on a doily.
Lifting herself so that she could better take stock of what was going on around her, she felt stiff in every part of her body she could name. She filled a glass and drank it too quickly. The cold water seized her throat and put her into a coughing fit.
Finally relaxed, her breathing returned to normal, and she dried her eyes with a Kleenex.
She couldn't see well without her glasses, but she couldn’t remember where she’d left them. So, scrunching up her eyes, she gazed around the room and fixed on the portraits. Leaning forward as far as her body would let her, she studied them. The woman looked like her mother, but her mother never sat for a painting. And the man? Oh my! That's German, but he must be 50 years old in that portrait. She raised her right hand in front of her face. Loose skin, liver spots, and blue veins stared back no matter how hard she squinted and shifted her head to find a true view.
First published in 6 Tales, December 2011.