He was rotting from the inside out. Slowly dying over a span of months. Yellowed, shriveled body, a maze of drains and tubes. He smelled. Nothing could disguise it.
She wheeled herself slowly into the room, and the air filled with sadness – a deep, seething sorrow. She greeted him with warm words in the mechanical fashion bred by habit. Her eyes flickered over him briefly, and she seemed remote from him and the surroundings – shoulders with the familiar slouch of one who had been going through the fire for a while. He responded, but averted his eyes.
Aged couple, they had been married a long time. What type of marriage it had been, one could only guess at. What were they thinking? Did he despair for the body that responded to her without even a thought? As the stench of his own decay reached his nostrils, did he yearn for a quick death?
His wife gazed absently out the window, focusing on nothing – did she loath the legs that betrayed her? After dancing, leaping wildly all night – dark eyes flashing, did she sob quietly when she awoke, rheumy eyes wet, to see it was all a dream?
The undercurrent borne out of their coming together created a type of evil magic that transported him back in time. “I drove all night to get here”, he said. She stared. He continued, “Do you know anyone that would like to make a few dollars to clean this place up for me?” She looked around, then looked away. He sighed… and closed his eyes.
