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She wished he wasn’t so far away.

Day by day,

As he felt further

And further

Apart

Something else

Crept up

Closer and closer.

 

An uneasy hand

Pressed down on her

Bony shoulder.

A grim reminder

Of what she had done

Years ago on that

Snowy, heavy-footed

Evening.

 

The misshapen, rotting

Corpse, slithering

Its way out

Of the fast-flowing

River. With broken arms

And shattered legs

It crawled its way,

Slowly, surely,

Into her room,

Sitting back down at the

Edge of her bed.

Making itself

Comfortable.

 

She was blissfully content,

The happiest girl

Compared to that previous

December night.

And yet,

Left alone,

It always

Came

Back.

 

Days, weeks flew past.

And she remained busy,

But that foul-smelling,

Festering carcass

Always remained in

The slimmest corner

Of her eyes.

Unrelenting and

Unforgiving, she felt

Cold, charcoal eyes

Analysing her every move.

 

She wakes up,

Looks at the calendar.

There is not long left,

She muses to herself,

Pulling up the bedcovers and

Choosing to ignore

That unwanted weight

At the end of the bed.

 

 

Copyright © 2017 Rebecca Sherratt

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