In a tiny room, sterile white, a withered old man gasps awake on a hard twin bed, wide-eyed and bewildered. A simple thought sparks in the darkness, struggles for space amongst the brambles and fog that infest his addled brain, forcing a tiny gap in which to breathe. I don’t dream! He clutches at thin sheets and stiff foam pillow. The thought trips over itself, I don’t dream, stumbles, I don’t... and falls, I... The old man’s sky blue eyes swirl to golden brown, then stormy gray, and emerald green, then fade, becoming dull, colorless, vapid. Brambles close in and the smothering fog of dementia
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