Words provided by T.G.:
- Zebra
- Brickstone
- Exit
- Cup
She sat there contemplating the emergency exit sign on that door for what felt like hours. The lab buzzed around her but the only thing she was able to feel was the puzzled look the clerk gave her from time to time. She had filled the cup with her urine earlier that day and was still holding it in a paper bag. She wasn't entirely sure if she wished to find out whether she was pregnant or not. She still loved him more than anything or anyone in the world, but she wasn't confident about bringing up a child with him, not anymore. She was once more than positive about it, but nothing is the same anymore. She tried to recall when it all started to crumble, but she couldn't. She didn't dare discuss it even. It was too absurd. She was too ashamed. How would she bring it up? How would she tell people that her husband had a zebra obsession? Is there a name for that even? How do you label a man's illness when the sickness is an obsession with black and white stripes? What aches a man when he cannot sleep unless the sheets were striped in black and white, when he cannot eat unless the bowl held the same design, when he stopped lighting the fire until he had changed every brick stone on the fireplace to a matching pattern? She tried to contain it but she couldn't; she tried to reason with him but of course he refused to acknowledge a problem. At this point, she felt like she was living in a zebra womb with no way out. She wanted to breathe on her own. She stood up, dazed, gave the cup to the clerk and regained her seat, contemplating the emergency exit sign.
- Zebra
- Brickstone
- Exit
- Cup
She sat there contemplating the emergency exit sign on that door for what felt like hours. The lab buzzed around her but the only thing she was able to feel was the puzzled look the clerk gave her from time to time. She had filled the cup with her urine earlier that day and was still holding it in a paper bag. She wasn't entirely sure if she wished to find out whether she was pregnant or not. She still loved him more than anything or anyone in the world, but she wasn't confident about bringing up a child with him, not anymore. She was once more than positive about it, but nothing is the same anymore. She tried to recall when it all started to crumble, but she couldn't. She didn't dare discuss it even. It was too absurd. She was too ashamed. How would she bring it up? How would she tell people that her husband had a zebra obsession? Is there a name for that even? How do you label a man's illness when the sickness is an obsession with black and white stripes? What aches a man when he cannot sleep unless the sheets were striped in black and white, when he cannot eat unless the bowl held the same design, when he stopped lighting the fire until he had changed every brick stone on the fireplace to a matching pattern? She tried to contain it but she couldn't; she tried to reason with him but of course he refused to acknowledge a problem. At this point, she felt like she was living in a zebra womb with no way out. She wanted to breathe on her own. She stood up, dazed, gave the cup to the clerk and regained her seat, contemplating the emergency exit sign.
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