Flash Fiction: Matcha
© Najla Said
Written by Emma Mathes
Photo by Najla Said
Some mornings he woke up and didn’t know which hand was meant to be on which side of his body. The exhaustion crept in slowly, gaining ground upon all of his executive faculties until he reached days like this.
First, his limbs become less sure of themselves; this is felt at the end of the day in aching joints and tense muscles. Then, speech — he’d listen to himself, and be unsure of what he meant. And finally, the brain fog so thick it feels as though one is pushing against total opacity, the darkness of sleep.
The Work did this, but how could he ever stop? So, there was only one cure.
