Picture challenge #5 Falling apart

[redblood]

INFO: They say that a picture can tell a thousand words. How many can you find?

Each week a new image will be posted, and your challenge will be to write whatever the image inspires you to write. It can be anything as long as it relates to the picture. A plot, a scene, a short story, a poem, a character, etc. You can write as much or as little as you wish. It's not the length that matters, it's what you put into it. There is no time limit to these challenges, so feel free to jump in at any time.

(Source)​

 

[Killjoy]

Because I'm groggy at the moment, I'll just sort of explain what I garner from this picture:

A man is being held captive in an isolated, nondescript medical facility; a very quiet place with equally ghostlike staff. He cannot see, but he knows when they're near from the soft words they exchange with each other in a tongue he does not understand. Their hands rifle through open drawers, shifting aside what he's sure are metal instruments. He lies absolutely still, but for how long he does not know. Time is not a part of his world.
Every few days the soft-speaking people enter his room, and every few days he feels a prick on his arm. The man experiences an array of otherworldly states of being, sensations so strange that they cannot be described...
After each one, he remembers less and less of how he came to be in that hospital bed.​

 

[noodle]

Picking,
Plucking,
Changing,
Dying.
He just lets himself be torn apart,
To blow away like leaves on the wind.

 

[PoetLore]

James lie in the bed for weeks before he regained consciousness. How he'd come to be there, he had no idea, nor was he sure why he could not see. there were odd noises around him, beeping machines and the echo of footsteps that seemed to be outside his room. He waited, biding his time, being careful to stay very still whenever they were in the room. It was fine with him if they believed he was unconscious still.

One day though, someone opened the window. The sweet scent of the forest called to him and he smiled. Slowly he allowed himself to flutter away on the wind, and would retake his physical from once he was safely out among his family once more.

 

[Doctor Jax]

I recognize this time as the autumn of my life,
the time when the weather turns sour,
when the leaves begin to die and fall off the trees.
I am no stranger to dying.

I am a tree as its leaves begin to turn,
and I am grateful I am orange and red, not brown,
so that way you can remember me with some kind of majesty,
not a leafless trunk, or a sickly sprig.

Like all autumns, this one will end
when a cold wind blows hard and a storm rolls in
to blow all the leaves off of the trees,
and I will become bare.

Next comes the winter, and a time of white hospital bed sheets,
where we'll have a kind of coldness to contend with,
a frigid emptiness besides the odd cardinal,
and I will never be warm again.

Winters will always come, as much as summers and springs,
and autumn is kind enough to warn us of winter's visit
so make use of it while you can,
my little acorn, my soon-to-be oak tree.