Interruption: The Void

I have not written lately. I have not felt inclined. This piece is both exception and explanation.

The Void

When I wake in the morning, my legs are cold from the weight of the Void pressed against them. The heat of the shower does nothing to slow the chill creeping toward my heart. As I dress to leave, the Void wriggles free of the blankets, stretching leisurely. It flounces onto its back and snip-snaps its jaws at me, commanding me to rub its belly. I turn away.

My mind is numb as my car drives me to work. I am deaf to the music in my ears. The sliver of ice lodged in my heart aches with a dull throb. The day passes, shadowed by dread of what waits at home, until my ruthless car carries me back. I hesitate at the door, and hear the click of the Void’s silent claws as it charges to greet me. When I step inside, the Void is prancing on the arm of the chair, impatient for a kiss. I swallow the pain and walk past.

At dinner, it climbs my leg, eager for scraps I don’t share. After, we walk around the neighborhood, unsure which of us leads the other. Back at the house, I sink into my chair, the Void watching me intently. I reach out to it, but my hand passes through, and ice carves my heart like a frozen knife. Exhausted, I go to bed.

And as the Void settles against my legs, filling me again with its chill, I whisper it goodnight.

Goodbye, Sandy Roo. I still love you.