Light (Fiction 59: Six)
Before consciousness reclaimed him, the light rescinded.
An angled light shot through the blinds and air and floating indeterminates and caught him directly in the eye. The first waking moments were those of dull, plodding confusion and he sat up, breathing. He regarded the voluminous beam carefully, slowly, noting only its existence and status as an interruption of sleep.
Before consciousness reclaimed him, the light rescinded.
This ultra-short story has been written in what could have been preparation for the Chico News & Review's "Fiction 59" writing contest, a contest with a specification of entries containing precisely 59 words (no more, no less), had it not been spitefully written nearly six weeks after the due date. More will follow, although it is uncertain how many.