Microfiction #8 — Hiding in Plain Sight

My body is frail. My vision is blurry.

I lie here, barely unable to support the weight of my arms and legs. My neck cannot hold my head so I stay truly bound to my bed. My prison.

This lack of independence defines everything I am, it highlights everything I cannot do.

When I can’t bear it anymore I cry and flail my body with whatever strength I have left, in the hopes of some relief.

She then always comes to my aid, and tries her best to comfort me. She is my carer. She is my rock. Day or night, she’s there by my side even when she seems to be as tired as I am. She cleans me, bathes me, and gives me the sustenance I need to keep going.

As I look into what I believe are her eyes to show my deepest gratitude for her efforts, she’s gone.

What have I done to deserve this? How is it fair that the only person who cares for me is —

“Peak-a-boo!”

Oh, she hasn’t left after all. I reward her in the only way I can. I smile and I giggle.