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i’m dabbling in sci-fi. here’s the first drops of this bucket…

Cold? Kind of cloudy. No rain, but dreary?

I watched the pulleys lower him into the ground. Seven feet — by three feet — by six feet…

Painful. I mean, have you ever watched your best friend lowered into the Earth? I was witnessing that thing exactly.

Slow. It took for-r-r-r-ever. The feeling compared to having a plug in your ear, and no matter how much you jaw, yawn, or chew gum, you can’t fucking make it comfortable. All too slowly the discomfort subsides, and you can hear again. Yea, that’s the analogy I’m looking for.

Actually, I was a bit relieved when he died in that hospital; his swollen, glazed eyes shutting for the final time. No more pain. No more morphine. No more bloody vomit. It was easier than trying to gaze past his sinking casket, with my shirt collar damp with tears.

I try to forget the yellow, bubbling lesions on his face — I try. His facial skin was the surface of a boiling honey pot, completely unrecognizable. The pain almost rakes my face every time I think about it. So, yea, I guess I won’t forget that.

The ease came with his last breath, wrapped in the room where people actually tried to help. A safe place, where so called “friends” and “family” came to visit. Even during the virus, when he was at his worst, the doctors still gave us some sort of… hope? Peace was there, I guess, as gullible and delusional as it sounds. I mean, death in a place where people are caring for you? What glory!? (cough) What a way out!? (cough) I suppose that’s the dish they’re feeding us these days….

— Sure… fuck if I’ve ever felt honest about that.


The walls were baby blue — our favorite color. We hadn’t seen the sun for months. I’m guessing that didn’t help his so-called “recovery.” What actually killed him? Well, I thought it was easier to just pose that question…

The crinky-cranky noise of those fucking pulleys — they needed grease like a lawyer needs a lie. Slowly, but all too soon, he was in the Earth…


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