Smothered

Anthony fingered the thick woolen blanket that nearly suffocated him with stuffy heat. The fabric was rough, well-worn from use by his grandmother who had passed it down to his mother. Now it was his.

It was foolish to be wrapped in wool during the hottest part of a summer afternoon but here he was naked and sweating. Beneath the blanket the air was thick and choking, totally unfulfilling. But he endured, persevering like a diver or an astronaut in the deep. The thickness of the blanket didn't quite keep the sun out. There was a shadowed light inside with him. It was uncomfortable but it was his.

A single, wracking sob escaped him but he swallowed the rest. His eyed burned, hot with shame and impotency. Rubbing his face back and forth on the interior of the blanket, he wiped away the stinging wetness. A few more minutes, perhaps moments, and he would throw off the blanket and revel in the comparatively cool air. Everything was a matter of comparative sensations. Everything. Even an unwanted inheritance.