PHOTO PROMPT © Sandra Crook
When I woke the first time, I lay on a cold stone slab, incense and smoke thick in the air. Robed figures stood in a circle chanting.
Then, a room with sun-colored walls, a single person in a robe, her hood thrown back to reveal pale green eyes, fiery red hair.
“I don’t even believe in….” I look down at my hands, wrinkled and old. I’m 29. Was 29.
“You’re going to be okay. The exorcism was successful.”
But that’s not true, is it? I don’t know if I will ever be okay again.
This is my entry for Friday Fictioneers, hosted brilliantly as ever by our fearless leader Rochelle Wisoff-Fields. For more fun stories, click the blue frog!