Wednesday, March 17, 2010

In the still of the night

I did a bit of gardening yesterday, pulling out brambles and ivy, preparing to plant. I hadn't been wearing gardening gloves, foolishly, and had acquired numerous sticks and pricks, stabs and jabs.

As I lay abed in the dark, my hands pulsed and swelled and reddened and shone and heated and oozed and throbbed, absorbing my consciousness 'til they were no longer hands but alien pain-pods about to erupt with pus-like blob-creatures.

But when I turned the light on, magically they were just my hands after all, with a couple of tiny scratches.

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