Bedridden, I ate nothing for days. Gradually came paper-thin
noodles boiled in lemon water, salt-less crackers they called
saltines and half cups of chamomile. Unable to escape I assumed
nothing happened in the world beyond my bedroom. Light
changed as it always had, doves cooed in the hollows of the house,
once the sound of a woman laughing, two men yelling in a strange
tongue, the old church bells down the road and the occasional car
passing by, but the restless silence seemed to be the most
unbearable thing.
-W.J. Preston, Apple Valley Review
Coffee and Irony 