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  • Writer's pictureBeatrice Iker

Micro Story #8: Deserving

Updated: May 6, 2022

I sit on my living room floor surrounded by clear glasses of water. They sparkle against the show the sunrise plays for us. My mouth goes dry.

I pull out my phone and scroll until I forget.

Later, still on the floor, I close my eyes against a pounding in my head. It’s deafening. Surely the neighbors can hear.

I pop a painkiller and dry-swallow, then I return to my phone.

That night, my legs are numb after having been immobile all day. My skin is rough against my trembling fingertips. I look up at the ring of water around me, and I shake my head. I am undeserving of something so lovingly essential to life.

I spread lotion on my arms and I return to my phone.

My heart races. My neck cannot hold my skull. I wonder, absently, how far away death is from my impending unconsciousness.

I want to be like water. I want my absence to bring people to their knees. I want my presence to give people strength for their lives. And I want to never be able to be replicated.

My thoughts swirl in my head, tumbling one after the other. Each of them wants to say their piece, then fall into the background. I want to be like water. I want limitless fluidity. I want my worth to be unquestionable.

The next morning, I wake on my back. My lungs are tired. I cannot feel my arms, even as I reach out to the nearest glass, because what am I if not...water? Deserving.

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