The blinds are drawn tight. It could be dusk or dawn, morning, noon, or night. In this tiny room where I will die, where my nose and eyes burn with disinfectant and bleach, how can I tell? The smell is harsher now. I feel my bowels slowing, gurgling to an uncomfortable halt. That thick smell envelops me, all mustard gas and shit. Of Death, stroking smoothly, confidently toward me across a deep lake of bleach where no light reaches the bottom. If the disease doesn’t kill me this stench sure will. Joe’s body felt weaker today. Every movement was stiff and sore. His throat burned and scratched every time he tried to swallow. Going in and out of consciousness every so often, he felt the end closing in. Maybe now he would finally get to be with his beloved and she wouldn’t slip away from him anymore. Turning his head took more effort than it did yesterday. The dividing curtain was pulled back. His trusty neighbor was fast asleep. Only able to see his neighbor’s right profile and the gentle rise and fall of his chest, Joe was often concerned about what the man looked like from the other side; not that it mattered any.
