Blindfolded

Burying my face in the blanket, I feel like sleeping more. The part of the blanket touching the tip of my nose smells acidic because of my saliva. I move my face away and search for the part of the blanket that is likely to smell good. When I find my favorite part, I sniff the scent and bury my face again.

I get up. I go out of my bedroom through the half-open door. Bumping my shoulders against some pieces of furniture in the hallway, I try to go to the bathroom sink and stumble over the step. I go up the step and hold out my hands. I hear the water flowing from the faucet. The water feels very cold.

I go down the step and go to the kitchen. I grope for the kitchen table. Bumping my knees against what seems to be a dining chair, I feel around for a paper bag of medicine on the table, which the doctor told me to take, but I don’t find it. Instead, I touch a bumpy thing with my right-hand fingertips. I pick it up. The round, bumpy object fits in my palm. I find a faint smell of citrus fruit. I put it back on the table. Again, I feel around for the medicine. Something touches the back of my right hand. It clinks, and I withdraw my hands right away. I don’t smell anything now. 

Then I can hear the sound of helicopters outside.

I give up on taking the medicine.

I head for my familiar desk in my bedroom and sit down on the desk chair. I stretch over the desk. I pick up something hard and stroke it. The surface is uneven. There are some protruding objects and a dented part. It ticks. 

I can hear cars passing on my left. 

I can also hear a clattering sound from behind me. The phone rings. I turn my head toward the sound. One, two, three…. The phone stops ringing after ten sings.

I am covered in silence.