To the Top of the Mountain

49

HE HAS LOST his language. He sits, waiting, hunched over. He is a wordless little bundle. The footsteps come closer, and he waits wordlessly. He lies on the floor and pulls the sheet towards his face, as though it could protect him. He is lying on the floor because he can no longer sleep in a bed. Beds scare the life out of him. He hears the door swing open in that unmistakable way that should be soundless but isn’t, it echoes through him, and he knows that it will echo through him for the rest of his life. However long that will be. The sheet is ripped away, a zip is opened, a crude laugh rings out and he cries and cries, beyond tears, and he cannot say a word, because he has no words for it.

His tongue is gone.

He is in the shadowy depths of Thanatos.