Where does it hurt?

“Everywhere -“

“Ma’am that’s not helpful, can you be more specific?”

It’s everywhere. Churning inside my gut, twining through my heart, tingling in my limbs, a tree is sprouting through my body-

“On a scale of 1 to 10-“

25.

Stop asking so many questions. Just fix it, please.

“She’s just too anxious.”

“She’s just too fat.”

“She’s just too-“

The probe is tangled. My throat is filling

like

reeds

on a riverbank.

I choke-

We try again…

again…

again…

“Where were you exposed?”

I’m being wheeled to someplace new, someplace where my world’s barriers are defined by zippers.

“When….were….you….exposed?”

It all begins to fade. I try to describe the pain and gag instead.

“Ma’am, we’re making you comfortable-“

I splay, branches blossoming, and whisper a hoarse goodbye. I try to pretend I’m comfortable.

I’m comfortable.

I’m not a bother. I’m apologetic for this hassle. Meanwhile, my body is fodder. Branches sprout, roots furrow, perhaps the doctor should check in?

And then: “Stress,” they abruptly tsk sadly as what’s left of me is wheeled away.