She was the greatest person he knew, but her cruelty when, she was sick, was that of a Stalinist dictator.
She’d strip the flesh of your pain and hurt you down to the bone, Frank thought.
Frank had gone out to run errands, and he moved like a aged snail his nerves red hot like a match touched to cotton.
Looking at his medication, Frank thought about downing it all.
Even though he was alone; his mood flat, dark and disturbed he wanted to exit the planet by his own hand. Frank didn’t want to live this way.
He wondered why suicide was illegal? How could they charge you with a crime once you’ve walked into the white light?
Frank turned his attention back to the television. He knew his answer was coming soon enough.