Umm… Umm… Ummmmm


 “Umm… Umm… Ummmmm.”

“What did you say?”

“Umm… Umm… Ummmmm.”

“I can’t understand you.”

“Umm… Umm… Ummmmm.”

“Take off that stupid mask and tell me what you want.”

Ever so slightly lifting his facial covering… “Are you kidding me. Fresh air is far to dangerous. I have already lost most of my pulp, my fiberous strains and my seeds. My tendroils have withered and I think my ribs are caving in. I think someone has even attempted a craniotomy.”

As caringly as I caould I responded. “I smell rotting flesh.”

“That doesn’t make me feel any better.”  


Written for Deborah Bluestein’s Sunday’s in My Livingroom.

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