Short Story : A brush and a wish

Today  I woke up and my left hand was gone. I wasn't surprised at all, I was expecting it to disappear for a few weeks already so it came as no surprise to me.

The next morning my left arm was gone. Then and there I got mad, and then, scared. I ran to my bathroom just to let the mirror tell me that it was really gone. And so it did, and so I cried. I didn't want my hand, that much was true, but my whole arm? Something was definitely wrong.

I went to my closet and opened it. Long lines of lifeless t-shirts were waiting for me. I choose the ugliest one and it made me feel good. After dancing and tripping for a while I managed to put my t-shirt with a yellow smiley face on it and went downstairs to fetch myself a cup of coffee.  I imagined making myself a coffee arm and going everywhere with it. I would drink it whenever I was thirsty and then in the evenings I would fill it back with Ethiopian Coffee, or maybe a Mexican blend. That would definitely make me have some status with my friends, and I'm sure a ton of girls would love to hang out with me just because of my coffee arm. That thought made me depressed.

I opened the window and sat staring at the infinite nothingness. Buses, cars, clothes, ambition and solitude. I thought I had seen through all of that and that's when I asked for my left hand to disappear. Why? It wasn't clear any more. I remembered my grand father telling me that what was good in the morning was usually wrong or rotten in the evening. I didn't know much about wisdom or words, but I definitely felt that something was rotten right now. I went to sleep fearful of what may happen to the rest of my body.

Heavy eye lids. An acid taste in my mouth told me I hadn't had a good night sleep. I kept my eyes closed and tried to feel every part of my body with my mind. It didn't work.  I tried to move my left arm but it was still gone.  Hot sweat sprinkled from my forehead.  Was I not being brave? I knew I wished it, but I had stopped at my left hand, and now my arm was gone but I was still scared. I knew that I couldn't go on like this, chopping every bit of my body until it was all gone. It was all or nothing, but then, I had already started with my left hand and I didn't feel good.

I jumped out of the bed and picked up a cigarette on my way to the window. I slowly smoked three with an empty head. Then I opened the drawer and saw it there, still on the exact same spot where I had left it. I looked at the glass recipient sitting next to it and it was all dried blood. I took both items to my kitchen and warmed them up. I went back upstairs and with a frown and more determination that I thought was capable of started to paint a big red line over the "to live or not to live" letters that were written on my roof. The brush had a warm feeling to my hand so I decided to go on.

When I stepped down I knew that my arm would be back tomorrow and that even though I lacked the character, I know knew how I wanted to live.

Author's Note

metaphors metaphors and more metaphors, did I over did it?
feel free to make any criticism

Reviews

[MagiCrystal]

Honestamente...la verdad.. sin detalles.. Si lo vuelves a escribir.. te resultara mejor. Tienes bastantes errores y repites las palabras demasiadas veces.. tomate tu tiempo.. leelo.. y busca la manera de escribir el misterio del que tu quieres que leamos.. tienes la idea.. ahora busca la puerta y dejalo salir.. es bueno.. me gusto.. tu amiga

[Yours Truly]

I enjoyed it. It is has a eerie metaphors that I think only the author can completely understand. I picked up on several of them but probably missed some too.
I'm going to go back and reread it after I'm done with this. Very interesting story.