by Virginia Winters
Morning comes. Through the window I hear the frantic calls of robin babies, bringing their flapping parents, shift-changing to feed the ravenous gaping mouths. Sunshine, slanting across the wall, reflects from the mirror and glances into my wide-open eyes. The pungency of coffee, freshly brewed from just-ground beans, carries up from the shop below, blowing past the fluttering curtain. The cat jumps on the bed, rough-licking my face and tickling my nose with her whiskers. I lie inert, waiting for the attendant to come and lift me into the chair.
Virginia Winters, who lives in Lindsay, Ontario, Canada, is an active member of the Internet Writers Workshop. Several of her stories have been published online, and one in Confabulation2, an anthology published by Wynterblue Publishing. She blogs about writing and other interests here.