[Short stories that are 55 words or less. Neither has a title.]
He doesn’t know where he’s going. he doesn’t know where he’s coming from. He runs. He sees a bee. He is stung. He is allergic. He falls. White light. White room. No voices. No wife. No daughter. No son. Nothing new. He rolls over, asleep. No windows. Solitary. Safe. Padded confinement.
He limps along, trying to stay on the blue lines, only occasionally venturing onto the harmless white surface. One leg gone, taken. Another weak, injured. Flash! He cannot see. Another, with the sound of digital beeps. He is dying. The world is watching. He feels around his deathbed. His wings are broken; can’t fly.