By: Megan Cramer

Bertha woke and her left eye felt weird. Heavy and leaden, it was difficult to open all the way, and it felt less expressive and lively than usual. Her mind went to the dark side: surely she’d suffered a stroke. Or was going blind. Or had scratched her cornea and would become a Cyclops and would never be loved or even be acknowledged by other human beings ever again. During her afternoon Diet Coke break she checked her face in the bathroom mirror and was able to wink at herself, sharing a secret joke of mortality with her aging image.

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