These are not stories.

The old man sits on the edge of his bed. He stares at the wrinkles in his hands. Whose hands are these? he wonders. He looks around the room and doesn’t know where he is. The walls are barren. There’s another bed next to his but it’s unoccupied. Static plays on an old tv hanging from the corner of the ceiling.

The old man stands and grabs onto the wall to steady himself. He feels like he hasn’t been on his feet in a decade. Voices pass outside the room, the sound of children. He walks to the door and tries the knob but it’s locked. Hello? he whispers. He walks to a window on the other side of the room and looks outside. A courtyard below is empty. But he sees people running down the street. Hello? he whispers again.

The old man is confused. The last thing he remembers is playing with his children at the park down the street from his house. His wife sat on a bench, smiling and admiring the wonderful man who was her husband. What a life they had built for themselves.

But now he wondered where his wife and children were.

The sound of children’s voices outside of the room again. He shuffles back to the door and starts shaking the knob and pounding on the door. “Hello!” he yells. “Someone please let me out of here!”

“They can’t hear you,” says a voice. The old man, startled, looks back and sees another old man on his bed.

“Hey, you’re sitting on my bed,” he says to the other old man.

“What do you mean?” asks the other old man. “This is my bed.”

The old man stares blankly.

“This is my bed,” says the other old man, “and they can’t hear you.”

“Why not?” asks the old man.

“Because they don’t want to,” says the other old man.

The old man’s eyes well up. “Where are my children and wife?” he asks.

“They’ve forgotten about you,” says the other old man. “They’ve forgotten about all of us.”

The old man clutches at his heart. He can feel it beating slowly. He’s still alive, he believes, but he is confused.

“What did I do?” he asks.

“You lived,” says the other old man.

“Who are you?” asks the old man.

“I am you,” says the other old man.

“I’m so confused,” says the old man.

The other old man pats the bed and says, “come sit next to me.”

The old man walks to the bed and sits next to the other old man. They look at each other and the other old man smiles. “We have the same eyes.”

The old man scans the other old man’s body. He looks at the wrinkled hands. “We have the same hands.”

They sit staring at each other and eventually lay their heads on the pillow and shut their eyes.

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