Eric has been through hundreds of these abandoned homes. He forces himself to dispel the memory of her hairless scalp and gaunt face. He resealed the obelisk while she slept, leaving her to an even deeper sleep, and stepped into the graveyard, passing the more peaceful dead to meet the dawn with a heavy heart. He told Sofia how close Crane was to having a cure, how he was saving enough money to buy the mausoleum from the jackals, until she'd lost the energy to listen. The only radio is in Crane's ear.Įric traveled to tell Sofia that Crane had become obsessed with these unexplained missions, but she sensed his despair before he uttered a word.Īnother year, Sofia had said, struggling to part her cracked lips. A single tendril reaches past the balcony railing and sways in the breeze just above their windshield.Ĭrane gave them nothing. The exterior seems unaffected by time, save a broken front door and excess foliage draping through the bedroom's shattered glass window. Every second spent awake brings her nervous system further beyond repair.Įric jolts as Crane abruptly swings the dilapidated pickup into a small parking space, a perfect cube cut out of the pristine white walls of a loft. He'd sneaked out and borrowed this very truck, driven for an hour to the mausoleum, and unsealed Sofia's visage from the nutrient vat within her marble obelisk.Īnd for what? He wasted precious time. After a sleepless night communing with his dead wife, Eric watches the world pass from the backseat with heavy eyes.
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