Dropping keys, dark hallways, stuff hands clutching this key, the key. She knew it, knew every ridge. Had few possessions left now, after this week, just the key, the empty jar for food given to her by them, her tag and the key. The
Emma rushed into their kitchen. She tried the tap. She tried the tap and it worked. It wouldn’t work for long. She knew that so she drunk a pint, cool, vital, running down her throat, cleansing. Another pint was set aside, for later. Later. Bedroom now and cold, it was cold. Damp had set into the wood, penetrating, soaking its way in, making the furniture smell like any second it could just crack, crack and fall apart, flake away. Perhaps it could, would. Condensation had built on the windows, on the mirror, dripping water onto the wall.
It was their breath, she thought, their breath around her, on their mirror, on their walls. She was written in those walls. Her name. Her. Their house was far enough away that they, the officials, they hadn’t reached it yet, weren’t even close yet, so all was as she had left it. All was still hers, theirs, there.
Everything felt detached. Their home was not their home, not it, not quite, not the place she decorated, created, comfortable, warm, home. The bed wasn’t soft any more, the table made her skin crawl, everything seemed harder, more solid, less familiar. It was untouchable now, all of it, untouchable and foreign and wrong. Would she need to learn it all, learn it all again like a child? Would that place, their home, would it ever feel the same without him? Now, for now, it was a capsule, a capsule of time, and of him and of them. How long would it stay that way?
All she could think of, the only thing, was to huddle beneath blankets, keep warm, keep remembering, remembering him. The lights didn’t work any more. It was growing dark. She tucked her feet under the covers, told herself she needed to sleep, to forget, to dream and be surrounded; not by just their things but by him. Only him. She could have that, she could have it.
PT1 here… http://bit.ly/Z9MOX4
Words by me (Ellen) and Rosemarie Short.
via Aberrant Necropolis http://bit.ly/10yCrMX