“Nobody! My son… He’s no longer here,” she says, bowing her head. “Do you want something to eat? You’ll feel better,” she says to me and waits.
I look down at myself, my bloody feet, my dirty patient’s robe. My stomach is growling at the thought of food alone. I nod and sit on the couch. It’s old an uncomfortable, but in my condition I’d swear it was made of silk and puffy clouds.
Hours pass, I’ve eaten and am finally rested, but I don’t feel much better. Something… Something is emptying in my head. In my mind. The woman sits across the room from me with her head down, doesn’t resist, doesn’t even do anything that would make me suspect her. She sneaks in glances at the machine on my arm and the black cable that dips into my neck. I feel uncomfortable having her attention on me all the ti
