story.

2:00am.
A man lies motionless on a hospital bed. Medical staff scurry above him like vultures after a freshly fallen rodent.
Blood pours like sweat from his open wounds. Waves roll over one another on a monitor by his side. They begin to lose their height, their frequency. He begins to lose his strength, his vitality.

In another place, where he once was, his car sits crippled at the side of a busy road, a second further into the ditch, overturned. Yellow tape encloses the place where a dead man did once lay. It is a cold night.

Suddenly the man loses his feel of the hospital bed, of the of the cool air to his skin, of the blood through his veins. All his vision dims to black.

He sees only darkness.
No distant bright lights.
No angels to carry him.
No lightness of being.
Darkness.

That is the beginning of my new story. I have decided it will either be called Earthly Angel or The Mortality of Edward James. What will become of the rest of it I am unsure. I get the feeling I’d like to make a movie of it someday, but for now it remains only a story.