Necrofilia

Necrofilia

Magdalena

If I could just remain laid here, I am sure my husband will drive insane for walking endlessly about to crush the floor with the weight of his steps. I can still hear the wood that once was soft, barking into my deaf ears, the doctor is climbing upstairs, he will tell me again I have to do surgery, but if only my Sebastian would know how much it hurts to accept a chance of such dimensions. I am dying… the doctor will leave empty handed saying I might regret it. There is fifty percent of chance to make it through, and another fifty tell me I’ll die. The only cure for the heart lies on a tomb stone. From this small bed to this asylum, everything belongs to me. The neat nurses come in and they graceful and patiently start talking to me about easy stuff, I do believe they think I am not in my right state of mind. How do you do? It is a lovely morning. Do you remember my name? I am Mrs. Newman, your nurse. They talk loud… very loud. I know my ear is not what it used to be, but there is no need to shriek. They give me some sedatives or whatever they are called, I barely eat anymore… just pills… and more pills. My beloved husband is always near me, he keeps writing to the local newspaper, everyday he criticizes something new. I can read his lips, it is amazing how little attention we give to other people’s body parts when they are all functioning correctly. His lips are thin. He barely opens them to speak, I can scarcely see his teeth. They are normal, he is quite normal, I never noticed his lips. The human eyes and brain always tend to focus on things… in this room my eyes always concentrate on the walls, I know by heart the furniture, the swirls, the smell… Why can’t I just die? I got used to my bed, if I have been in this bed for years, I wonder if my next bed will be my coffin…