He had been expecting the call for months, however his brain still shifted into shock as the high pitched police officer's voice broke the news. "Carbon dioxide poisinging, the fire left on, aggrivated breathing condition". He could hear the words but they didn't sink in like normal words do, they floated in the air and hung there suspended.
He noticed there'd been a gap in the talking, perhaps they'd asked a question, "hello?". He hit the hang up button as an easy way out of the situation, he immediately hit the contacts button and searched for his dealer's number, fuck giving up, not tonight, no fucking way, of all the evenings all the days. he'd built up the readiness for months, one last way for the old man to mess up his life even with his last action.
Mind thought of the money, 10K with 2 going to the funeral, that's 8K to do with as he pleased, the phone rang, the dealer was outside, he'd just get a half today then give up in few weeks or so, not so much to worry about now with the cash, might aswell spend a little relieve the stress...
Thursday, 17 March 2011
Tuesday, 15 March 2011
I
The old man let out another loud almost wolflike growl, within it's gutteral roar was the hint of panic. The room was achingly hot, a gas fire on the wall the culprit and the room's illumination. On the other side of the room the old man stares at the fire as if to will by force alone it to alter.
Glancing down now to the right by the three legged coffee table where salvation in phone form rests, again he attempts to outstretch his arm, again the right side spasms and again the almost unbearable racking pain flushes the system, eyelids rush to one another like tectonic plates, the already sweat drenched brow wrinkles in unbearing agony into mountainous flesh folds
Why so tired, it must be the pain, cant get up, cant move, cant get phone for help, cant get help, need help, why so tired. The fire, the double glazing, the windows are shut, carbon dioixide must be, of course, oh no, not like this. Not after the water, not after the cravas, cant be like this, fuck, seriously, fuck no, shit.
Glancing down now to the right by the three legged coffee table where salvation in phone form rests, again he attempts to outstretch his arm, again the right side spasms and again the almost unbearable racking pain flushes the system, eyelids rush to one another like tectonic plates, the already sweat drenched brow wrinkles in unbearing agony into mountainous flesh folds
Why so tired, it must be the pain, cant get up, cant move, cant get phone for help, cant get help, need help, why so tired. The fire, the double glazing, the windows are shut, carbon dioixide must be, of course, oh no, not like this. Not after the water, not after the cravas, cant be like this, fuck, seriously, fuck no, shit.
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