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BAG A BONES
The heat was becoming
oppressive, walls closing in. Bile drying on the soiled and stained bed
sheets next to me. The stench of decay omnipresent. Retching as my legs
shakily tried to hold the weight of this emaciated bag of bones which
barely passes for a body any longer. Oh to be outside. Clinging on to
the hall walls leading into the front room, a room we rarely enter any
more, the window are too big and although they are well covered it still
seems dangerous. There is no sign of Ray. He can't have left, that would
be suicide, and it's too soon. "Ray" comes out a croak, not
my voice! Or it never used to be. " Ray " repeated and again
and again it becomes a mantra. There is no indication that ray is any
where in this tiny little flat that used to be our most beloved home our
new beginning, our chance. Crawling along the hallway still not convinced
of Rays presence in the flat, but the alternative was more horrifying
than the prospect of risking life and limb outside. Approaching the bathroom
and I spy a tuft of dirty yellow hair. My blood freezes, horror washes
my very soul and I hear my self scream "NO". There is no movement. As I make my way back
into the bedroom and lay down, calculations take the place of grief. How
much longer could I survive in here with this paltry amount of food {a
little longer, twice as long in fact.}How long before the body of Ray
had to put outside? Could I bear it?
Day light is fading,
dusk is falling along with the dust. Ray's body safely in the shed, which
now padlocked has become his tomb. |