Her brain was taken over, by the disease, by the desire. Her actions are nonsensical, driven by something internal, nameless, an impulse. She refused to eat, blurry vision and weakened stance, mind rippling at direct contact like a stone in still water. She has no answers, the question doesn’t drive her, it’s the action, direct and pointed, it will answer the questions, cause a calm, shut it all down, up. Inside she feels a contented emptiness, free for anything worthy to finally fill her. She glares down at the knobs of her knees, the visible twist of the bones in her forearms, the pulse and beat of blood in her veins.
In a moment like that, denial seeking absolution, you cant feel you can only see.
The way everyone is confused and concerned, the way they lead with an open hand like trying to guide a squirrel toward a palmed treat, a whispered tone and so so slow. The way a small woman instantly urges infantilisation, the poor thing, the poor mindless, meandering being.
How long do you watch a pair of underclothes deteriorate before you finally toss them? Give up?
They weren’t trying to be given up on, they wanted some kind of reaction. Maybe the discomfort will lead to something, a spark, ignition, flames….maybe they’ll be extinguished before they destroy it all.
They weren’t.
She peeled her clothing from the snowy ground outside the window of their home. She lay still, calm and quiet as they rolled her corpse into an oven.