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​East Fork:

A Journal of the Arts​​


Misty Black
By: LeeAnne Lepak

The black receiver slides through my fingers hitting the floor with a resounding crack. Falling through reality to a misty place. Cold…scared…alone.

“I will see you tomorrow,” I said only thirty minutes ago.

Bodily landing on a surface of onyx my rapid breath mists the surface. A large pale moon reflects my face back at me; I do not recognize the image.

“Okay, I will finish my book today in dialysis,” you said.

The inky black fluid below the surface beckons to me; the icy surface melts away. As I sink, warmth envelopes me calling me to deeper depths. It offers me a cocoon of protection. I only need to accept it.

“Dad pushed me for a walk today,” you said.

It would be so easy to succumb, to submit. A noise from above intrudes in this quiet misty peaceful place. I push it away.

A hand extends through the darkness toward me and cold hard plastic is thrust back into my hand. A disembodied voice intrudes in the quiet. It is harsh and urgent, so alien in this peaceful place.

“Mrs. Richter, I must find Mr. Luster…his wife just expired.”

“What! What are you saying?”

“She stopped breathing during dialysis and is non-responsive.”

“So…she died?” I questioned.

“Yes, yes, that is why I must find Mr. Luster.”

“I will find my father,” he deserves better than you to deliver the news.