Melody sat in the brightly lit hospital corridor, clutching a tissue, tears streaming down her face. She rocked back and forth in her chair. When any doctors or nurses walked in through the swinging doors, she looked at them longingly for any information but was more often than not ignored her or simply acknowledged with a nod. That morning her son Anthony descended the stairs and sat at the breakfast table without a word, seemingly oblivious to the fact he wasn’t wearing any clothes. Thinking maybe he was sleepwalking, Melody tried to shake him away, but his eyes were wide open and as grey as stone. His washed-out flesh was waxy and cold to the touch. “Anthony? Anthony, can you hear me?!” Melody pleaded. “Hello, I’m Anthony.” He answered in monotone. “Anthony, are you alright?! Please talk to me!” He was unresponsive. His unblinking eyes stared for a moment before he stood up. “Time for school,” he said. Anthony stood up and turned his back to Melody, revealing oozing maggot-filled
This is a collection of anecdotes from the fringes of reality, a tapestry stitched together from our dreams as well as our nightmares, from the fears that haunt the collective imagination. These are the symptoms of the sickness known as the human condition.