Falling Forgetful- a Story With No Pronouns

The door to the cellar was open.

Strange, Herbert thought. Tillie closed every door that could be closed in the tiny house.

Herbert started. The funeral.

Forgetting everything was starting to become common place. The children, Herbert thought, should prepare to provide live-in nurse. Memories were fading. Tasks were getting hard.

A light came from the cellar.

Curious, Herbert stepped closer and closer.

The arthritis festering deep in Herbert’s joints brought winces walking down the stairs.

But, slowly, the pain disappeared. Smoothness returned to hands, to arms. Herbert brought fingertips up, touched the nose and forehead that couldn’t belong to a man of seventy-four.

Heart attack, thought Herbert. Hallucinations.

Amazed, but strangely calm, Herbert walked on

and slipped.

                Crashing, tumbling, alone, a burst of white light.

                Herbert sat up and looked around.

                Just the same old living room. Just Tillie’s urn and his overstuffed chair.

                And, the thought occurred to Herbert, everything was horizontal. No idea, Herbert thought. No idea.

                Herbert got off the floor and shuffled into the kitchen.

                The door to the cellar was open.

 

epiphanyfusion epiphanyfusion
18-21, F
1 Response Mar 12, 2009

wow... nice, this is what i am finding in the internet..thanks bro