Waiting for the one with degenerative disease

In the day I only get signs. I observe my surroundings. I wait. Events smoothly slip through my throat and leave no after taste.
It is not until I close the door behind, when the choking begins.
I feel the inevitable shuffling towards my room. I sleep next the tower and my thoughts echo before they leave forever. I hear those feet in slippers brushing the carpet. The bristles slip in cracks of leather soles. Those steps awake dust, which like veil covers all I know.
I wait. The glass tube that runs through my heart is cold. The moment liquefies and drips through it.
Then it comes and opens the door. It enters. All black robed as you would expect.
It comes in and stares at me.
I am surprised.
‘You are not the one I fear,’ I say. ‘Your Temporomandibular joints are not severely affected by the degenerative disease. I would like to admire your joins and bones for a moment.’
And that is what we do.

 

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