Nana’s hard, wooden fingers wrap around me as she lifts me up. She inserts the brass syringe into my mouth and slowly pushes the bittersweet mush down the back of my throat. She then lowers me into my bed and gently drapes the sweaty, fleshy blanket over my moist, raw form.
I’m not sure how long she’s had me. I can’t remember much of my life before Nana. I know I had a wife, or at least a girlfriend. No, she was my wife; I keep letting myself forget that. I think we had a child, maybe more than one. I wonder if they still remember me. I wonder if Nana has one of them…
She has a lot of us. I’m not sure how many. These bodies can just barely squirm about in our small beds and we have poor eyesight; the only thing we can see with absolute clarity is Nana. I try to get a good look around me. I can see countless beds in this dimly lit, endless space. Almost all of them are occupied.
The newcomers always resist. They thrash and try to scream in muffled voices. That is, until they see Nana. They always mumble to their neighbors in some vain attempt at communication, but they eventually give up after a few more visits from Nana. I haven’t heard any mumbling lately. I can take some comfort in that.
But I could easily succumb to all of this if Nana just had the mercy to blind us. Her eyes are the most chilling thing I have ever seen. When I look into her eyes, all I can see is
Credited to Partlysmith