“I’m hungry” I say to myself.
“Mate, seriously, you have to stop eating, it really can’t be good for you, and you’re over eating way too often.” My friend replied.
I stayed silent.
It doesn’t matter to me, she’s gone, what have I got left? Food is what I love now.
It’s been three weeks since the bombing of the hospital. The person who committed these terrible acts causing mass hysteria and loss of lives?
Dead, killed by his own bomb after robbing a bank, I wasn’t even sure how he managed to blow up a car. Wouldn’t you want to use it to escape? Especially after robbing a bank…
I took another bite of the three large pepperoni pizza’s I had ordered for myself, my friend sitting there, watching the news. The same story, over and over again,
Food, the only replacement to my now dead fiancé; was helping me, over and over again.
My friend began talking again, in the background, insisting I seek help.
I don’t need it; I have all the help I need in my lap. Pizza, stacked on top of each other, with my 3L Coke next to me. That’s all I need. Unlike my wife, they don’t ask of much, just attention; which I am happy to give them.
Images flickering in front of me, I’m not really watching, I’m looking beyond the pictures, I’m looking to her. She’s not there anymore, she left me. Food’s never left me. Only to occupy my stomach, even so never leaving me for long, it’s always nearby.
Food is better than her, better than anyone, never complains, unless you’re a rather arrogant bunch of Jalapeños. Food satisfies me, and I it.
My emotions consume me, and I consume it.
This is my struggle, this is my survival.
Images of victims flash across the screen with some song in which I cannot remember the name of, a famous one, I recall.
Time slows down, to a near halt.
I stare. Tears forming in the corners of my eyes; lip quivering in despair, the slice of pizza held within my trembling had dropping to the box below in a dramatic fall, like one would see in the movies at a point of climax.
Tears flowing freely, like melted cheese; emotions pouring like a jug of cold beer.
Pain spreading slowly throughout my body, a constant dull thud, thud, thud.
The thudding increasing in beat, rapidly, like boiling water on a stove.
I see nothing, “Hey, buddy? Can you hear me? You’ve just suffered a heart attack, I need you to hold on until we get you into surgery, there has been a clot to you’re heart.”
I murmur something unintelligible.
“Can you repeat that for me buddy? It’s not long now…”
I gasp for air, filling my lungs.
The ringing of the hammer against the bell *Ring, Ring, Ring*, my eyes open, I squint under the bright white lights, the room smelling of detergent and chemicals; clean.
People rushing outside the room door, yelling out: “We have more coming!” The policeman outside my door was now looking around ever so nervously as to the cause and reason behind the panic that was occurring. Explosions in the distance now rocking the hospital ever so slightly; enough to cause shivers of worry throughout my body.
I smile, panic, hysteria, this is my place. I move my arm to get up, handcuffed.
Cursing to myself under my breath, as I spot the key lying on the bedside table, out of reach to my outstretched arm. Now ever so frustrated I look for something that could assist me in breaking free, or even moving the key closer, enough for my fingertips to just touch it. Then I would be free.
Room smelling of last nights dinner,
Thai take outs.
Papers strewn everywhere, radio playing softly in the background,
curtains drawn light filtering through.
Television flickering; snobbish politician feeding lies to the greater population of 6.30am.
My beer surprisingly still in present company, not spilled.
Take a sip, wincing, my neck, sore from sleeping on the couch, probably should sleep in my bed tonight, if i can be bothered.
Itching my bloated stomach, I think to myself. I should probably call in sick to work again. The last few days on the couch have been rather enjoyable, not having to work. I had plenty of sick leave left…
hmm, ill do it soon.
Flicking through the channels, Politics, News, Cheap Soap Opera, Kids Channels. The remote drops out of my hand, landing face down.
The channel changes, its the news.
Unable to reach it from my outstretched arm, i give up.
Burping, i adjust myself to get to the comfortable position, wiping the gunk out of my eyes and around my mouth I pay attention to what they are saying.
“We have declared a state of emergency” “We must initiate precautionary measures now.”
I move forward and change the channel.
The channel changes to a children’s channel.
The TV turns to static. I hear bangs and explosions in the distance.
Shrugging to myself I take a sip of last nights beer, a bite of last nights dinner.
Rolling over to sleep some more.