Americana Injustica

“How are you feeling?”
Her eyelids slowly peeled themselves open against the sandpaper that seemingly held them closed; the room began to swim slightly, so she closed them again to stop the ocean of nausea that threatened to consume her if she tried to respond to her husband’s question.
“Don’t try to sit up,” he placed his oversized hand gently on her chest to ease her body backwards again; “You’re hurt pretty bad, Babe…”
The tears came then, despite her efforts to stop them; and she began to sob loudly in her husband’s lap. He calmly lulled her crying and soothed her with repeated pats gently to her back, strokes to her hair…words to her heart.
“It’s okay, I’m sorry….I’m so sorry, it’s okay, it’s okay…”
She cried out of sheer disgust and disbelief and disdain; her tears did not come from the numbed out physical injuries, whatever they may…

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