Wings

I wake in darkness. The dim light marking the exit is just bright enough that I can read the clock on the wall. 2:45. The hands produce a harmonious ticking, but their rhythm is ruined by the discordant sounds coming from the other bed.

Wings is crying. I want to get up and comfort her, but I don’t have legs. I can’t do anything to help, so I just lay and listen.

She’s still crying as I drift back to sleep.