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BAMBOO SHOOTS
Works of fiction and poetry by friends of Bamboo Ridge Press.

chriskkCHRISKK

100



Clinging Terror

Published by CHRISKK | Sunday, October 07, 2012 12:23 AM


When awake, she would insist you sit in the chair next to her lounger, cling to your hand, afraid to lose you. 99 words


Recently, an old neighbor of mine died. She’d been close to a hundred, deaf, nearly blind, sleeping 20 hours a day. When awake, she would insist you sit in the chair next to her lounger, cling to your hand, afraid to lose you. Because deaf, she shouted her orders; because of anti-psychotics, she hallucinated a narrative that made sense to her. When I was rummaging through my purse, she shouted, “Grace, let me pay you for those hulihuli chicken tickets.” I ripped a few pages from my pocket journal and handed them to her. She gave me fifteen bucks.


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