Day 105 of 365 Days of Writing Prompts: Let Spacemen by The Killers inspire you.
Erin: In the morning, my husband was always a different man. He questioned everything. How some people are groggy and slightly crazy at night he would be in the morning. I got this impression that his dreams were on a different level than my own. In a different universe than my own. I used to think he was crazy, but then I got to know him and I started to listen and I realized in his crazy there were answers to questions I was finally starting to ask.
Shannon: I breathed in and opened my eyes. I was back on Earth and lying in a hospital bed. “We’ve got a pulse,” one of the doctors standing over me spoke out loud in a relieved tone. My vision was a little foggy, and my body was going though a weird tingling sensation as life poured back into my veins. I was alive. Thank God I was still alive.
The doctors and nurses were working on examining me, and patching up my broken pieces. Well, the physical ones. It was weird seeing them work on injuries I’d inflicted on myself. I wondered what they thought of me, and the other people like me. I winced at the pain of one of them sticking an IV into my arm.
After they finished and they gave the all-clear for visitors, my mom burst through the doors more emotionally destroyed than I’d ever seen her and immediately held me in what felt like the making of the world’s first never-ending hug. My eyes flooded with tears and I couldn’t control my heaving. It was one of those bittersweet hugs, the kind that burn, but in the moment you need them more than you need air to survive. “Why would you ever try to leave me like that,” she questioned, hardly able to get the words out coherently.
“I don’t know,” I coughed out.
“You don’t get do something like this and say that. I’m not going to accept that. You tell me what’s wrong,” she demanded, finally backing away but she didn’t loose contact as she took ahold of my hands in hers.
“I just thought I wanted to be free, because I’m not free in this world. It’s doesn’t really like me,” my voice faded out as I tried to control myself.
She shook her head. “I promise the world doesn’t hate you. I would hate a world that didn’t have you in it, so whatever made you feel that way is wrong. They don’t know how important you are.” She put her hand under my chin, “You don’t know how important you are.”
Listen, interpret, and create?