Desire and a Weightless Mind

It was something a clever cut above coordination. In unison the invisible strings began to strip sound from other dimmensions as they went haywire round their mythical pulleys; setting off steam topped pistons that shot darts into the air to land upon billions of black buttons perched on high. And as everything came to a stand still you could see the colour drained from the subjects below. The pink fading. Even the size dwindling. But then the blue flashing light on the conveyor belt began to alarm silently as they were decontaminated and placed back in the skulls. A second later, it struck 4:30pm

Or so it seemed in my head that often found itself so lost in superfluous fantasy. But I looked over at her. She was always so beautiful. Even with the bags that seemed to grow larger by the hour monopolising her face. She sat quaintly bothering no one on the sofa that somewhat devolved into a personal armchair as it dipped deeper and deeper into the abyss. She always knew I was watching. And when it began she found it rather interesting. Her losing that lustre wasn’t even the problem. It was the subtle belief that she no longer even knew it was happening.

But today was an interesting day. I typically squared off Thursday nights for chat. Those deep cultish conversations she would obliviously pass by in search for more ridiculous indulgences. I never took offence. So I set out a day. A specific day like today, but months ago she binned that as well. She had filled most of her days with mindless media and true crime binges. Blanketed carelessly with a film of casual alcoholism and withdrawl from her depreciated hormones. In fact I can’t actually say we ever existed in the same realm let alone the same room.

But I thought it wouldn’t be so crazy to let a third in today on this mundane Thursday night. In fact I could hear unfamiliar footsteps aproaching from down the Hall. The door was left open and it lined up perfectly as her wine glass was just about bare.

At least that’s how I mostly remember that night. He came in a little faster than I thought. Just as she got up to top off her drink. I was slightly aroused in a weird diabolical way, but as she jumped, lending her glass to a splattering screech, I had this weird feeling it was going to develop differently than planned.

I at first didn’t move, but she let out a screech that stole sound from different dimensions. So I finally whipped my head round to confront what I thought was a paid intruder. But what turned out to be a bloke with a scar I had never met. Choking her up against the wall. It almost happened instantly. Or maybe that’s just the brain damage talking. A broken wine bottle was lodged deep into his chest near his collar bone that forced streams of blood to sprout from his body that was so dark it was nearly indistinguishable from the deep red blend she used to drown her sorrows in.

I always ask myself why I never went for the bat that was sat behind the recliner. I must have seen part of it a million times before completely lunging at him. But in that liminal moment, right as he turned away from her suffocating face, he pulled out what at the time seemed like a metallic pipe. It wasn’t drawn with haste. But it didn’t crystallise in my mind until the barrel end of its shine was was striking the end of my nose. I guess in a way I was grateful for the clumsiness I never knew I had. So as I fell prematurely on my way past the island in the kitchen toward them two, the lone bullet managed only to catch the left side of my face as I fell to the floor married only to the ringing in my skull and the sadness on her face as the bloke finally dropped her body to the ground. There she were, looking back at me. I watched him injuredly step me over. And I watched a few others enter. Rummaging about as my eyes found their final bit of energy. Right before the close.

The face I always seem to remember. There are times I wake up and think it was somehow actually me. The scar acquired the night before. But they always tell me to suppress those thoughts. The reconstruction was somewhat successful. But it left me with an equally offputting scar. Just underneath my eye where most of my skin was Ripped away. But I don’t think any of it would matter to her now.

I looked over mostly happy. It was the second Thursday of the month. The nurse and I had a bit of an agreement. She let me exceed the visitation hours. Even though we were never actually married. So with biscuits and tea I’d come usually in the rain. To room 430. It was perched nicely in the corner of the hospital in a wing that received little traffic. Quiet, almost eerie, but just private enough for me to speak aloud with no care in the world.

And I sat there, I sipped with a grimace each time looking over at her. Her brunette hair as beautiful as it always had been. Her skin still somehow with a hint of colour underneath the white film. And there she lay. A lightly poured glass of red on her side table. Feeding tubes down her throat. Unresponsive.

And I put my hand on her frozen body as I leaned back in the chair. And behind the steam of earl grey I let out a hum of a story I’ve always wanted to tell her. We finally Had all the time in the world to chat. The exhaustion of the world nonexistent as we snuggled up to my deep thoughts. On that peaceful Thursday night.