To relieve the sound of snoring that disturbs my bride's dreams of shopping at Kohl's, I used a number of pillows to prop my head and get into the oddest position necessary to relax and hope that Jackie moved closer me, Mr. Warmth (now that Rickles' is gone, the title is up for grabs) and I find I'm driven to the very edge of the bed, below me a block of deep black nothingness disguised as a rug. But my terror at being so far not shoved me screaming to the floor.
So I sit here, coughing and droopy - the latter being the norm. One of the horses went home, though did take his sashaying horse. "See you on the deathbed, pal!" he said chortling as he turned to fire and disappeared.
"Don't worry," PTSD horse said. "We're still here. Blow your nose, but don't put the tissue on the bed cover! Think of your house! What, are you, someone who can........"
"He's asleep, PT." said the MS horse. "Enough for tonight. See, Pneumonia, oh....He's gone. More cholera, I guess, someplace else. Call it a night, or by the way there's a veterans hospital just down the road."
PT bowed his head. "In all fairness, sir, a lot of my brother's ponies have been there, terrifying the families by making TV soldiers even worse than he ever had it. Good riders, sir."
And with that the MS horse in its ghostly form relaxed, and began to fade.
"and another day ends," he whispered. He went to his favorite dream, the one driving a Cadillac, top off in the farm grass, his hair flying behind. This is living, he knew and he hoped he'd get to do the part where the world is but hay, water (for all needs), apples, and that nice palomino named....Zika. Wait, Chuck's on duty tomorrow. Great. Can't wait for those stories. Good ole Chuck. U.P. Chuck.