Zombie Nest:Zombie controlling

By smg2134 :: Tuesday October 5th, 2010

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there's a certain blurriness on the lens of remembrance when thinking about how you packed up your dead parent's things. All the things that touched their lives daily. Dad may have been dead for years and mom only a few days, but that frying pan dad used is no less emotionally significant after all these years. The boxes that cover the living room floor are themselves coffins, destined to secret and carry away the things that have been deemed either too hard to see every day, or too insignificant to have around as they'd clutter any house they end up in. But they do go somewhere. Relics. Trophies some. As the years have gone by, dad's electic chair, breathing machine, etc. have all been taken away by the various agencies that helped acquire them. 100 miles away, dad's near-last breaths sit like window frost on an asthma face-mask, at the ready for another aged, world weary, wheezing old person. The sound of the pump constantly churning it's rhythmic, lubricuous song...gone...all gone. Today they took the bed, and that did it. That was the final and crescendoic manoeuver. Granted, it wasn't the bed they'd shared those many years. God, she'd slept in a different room for a decades. But, that made the symbolism of it no less wrenching and added a giant exclamation point to the whole shebang. They're pleasant enough when they take the things away. They know why they're there. They know why you're there. At this point, it's just matter-of-factness. The gone still lingers, but it's not until they leave, that fastidiousness and organizational discipline give way to that empty bellyache of gone. Gone. You will have to save the crystals to regain your old life back. Please enjoy, comment, vote, nominate, tag submit contest vote if it gets in the contest and I hope you like it.


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