A silver line taps right from his vein. It forces through the arm, down the fingertips and grows out into the floor. Defying natural law. The skin expands where the vein congests and bursts, marbling his grey skin.
Never will he hold solace, here, again. Not in this life or the next. A devil's embroidery in fur-lined silk. The vines run and coil about his mantis fingers. His body warps and gives beneath the pressure, crushing bone and tile alike, puckering the skin.
Fuck-stained yet bare he lies there.
And he was done.
We were sipping on the vine and there were famished soldiers strumming their chords and letting them ring like gentle sirens. I’m counting to three. Tombstones block my view, I’m trying to see the horizon. Apple trees block my view. I’m trying to hide from search planes. Streaking comets guard my view, I’m trying to see my home planet. I’m sipping on the vine, it’s scrambling my mind. I'm counting to three, then I’m setting the glass on the table. It’s dripping on the dirty floor. I’m swinging in my hammock, trying to find my inner child. I was listening to the soldiers play their guitars and sing their protest songs. They were guarding my view. I was trying to find my inner child, who was trying to hide from his outer-adult. Everything I tried failed. But I tried.
Tough mudders shock the sprocket shoppers. Running through the path resistance. Smiling smugly at the bumbling bobo drinking bubbly. You elbow and nudge through the judicial sludges, past the jovial judges. Tough mudders, apathetic mothers. You topple out the melodious spout. You correlate the lady's fate to her shuffling dietary strategy. He's doing backflips in small rooms without damaging the chandelier. You marvel at your ability to spell "chandelier" on your first try without using spell-check. Now you are muddling tough through the mud. It's a tough-guy town and you are tying your boots. It's a town full of tough women, and you are letting your beard grow. You are fumbling through the fridge for some bubbly. You are constructing a funny argument for your jovial judges.
I'm here negotiating my early release, trying to get the gadflies to leave. Trains shuffle along the track. Gadfly passer-bys smack their snacks. Eastern fishermen attack the math. Burly world-openers draw the fire back, inhale me in the swirling womb, push me to the outer moon. Coughed out feelings choke the fool. Burning questions smoke the room. I'm here negotiating stupid concepts with neurotic walkers, trying to get the gadflies to leave in peace. Melodic mothers swallow their babies with nursery hums and sleep-inducing song. Rain comes and goes and the passer-bys don't know which mood to throw. Sunshine cracks the surface of the sky. I'm here scratching the silver shavings off the lottery tickets of my mind.
"I begged her...I begged her!" He cried. "She turned away from me, covered in a veil of silence; walking out the door into the cold night air." His body trembled as he relayed the events of his evening to me. What do I say in a moment like this? What could I do to take his pain away? Nothing. I stared at him, blank-faced and squeezed his big toe, as he lay helpless on the hospital gurney in physical and mental pain. "They will do what they can to save your thumb".