The Alarm

Beep… beep… beep. The alarm shrieks its morning cry.  A gnarled, withered hand crashes down upon the OFF button and falls to the side of the bed, dangling limply. The sliced glowing numbers are his dismal conclusion that life must drag on another day. A self-pitying sigh escapes from his parched lips. If I had the guts I would end it all right now…
“How are you feeling today Mr. Kraft?” She is towering over his bed with a smile plastered on her face. She is young but floaters in his vision censor her left eye, cheeks and neck.
“The same as I have for the past twenty years.” He croakes. The young caretaker shrinks and withdraws to a corner. Her smooth, moist face smiles, his coarse, shriveled face cringes. Cringes at the smell of his own piss, rheumatism ointment and palmitoleic acid.
“Would you like anything Mr. Kraft?”
“I’d like you to shut that mouth of yours and save it for a conversation with someone who’ll live it out.” Any minute now…
“Oh don’t talk like that…you’re in excellent shape!”
“Sagging, splotched skin and rusted, dysfunctional bones does not count as excellent shape.” I’ve lived out five caretakers. Who’s to say this one will enjoy my sepulchral company more than the others. Can they hire a hospice worker already?
“Well being all sad and gloomy like that isn’t gonna help Mr. Kraft…”
“And being optimistic will? What the hell is there to be optimistic for?”
“Well your family is coming to visit you today…” New, inexperienced and stupider than half the old bag residents here. I hate when these caretakers make half-witted mistakes.
“Oh_oh I-I’m so sorry M-Mr. Kraft…I-I. Um. That would be Mrs. Rosea…I…” Family. A prodding to a raw nerve. No polaroids of cheesy smiles from sweet, young grandchildren litter his walls. There is a bed, a bathroom, a sink, a fridge, a counter and a bookshelf. Other than that it is empty. The empty wallpapers are chewing him inside out. Acid burning away at his weakening heart..
Why can’t this end? The clock is ticking and I’m waiting for the one alarm that I’ll enjoy. Beep…beep…beep…

 

Reviews

[Jean P. Prudhomme]

well i've felt like that before...the opening lines i mean...... a short short......love it........perhaps it's a glimpse into thousands if not millions of various lives ........ kudos madame