Binary Tuberculosis

He hovered over the sink, naked, and stared at the mirror again tonight, straight into his undilated pupils, and he wondered to himself where his tears were. He couldn’t stop shaking, no matter how hard he gripped the sink with his bandaged hands. He then looked down and asked himself another question, the same one the doctors asked him every day for the past few weeks, why didn’t he realize he was carving his wrists with a knife?

…his left hand slips and his head bumps against the mirror… he finds himself forming an apology…

The only thing he remembers during that otherwise forgettable lunch was biting into his apple and then waking up in the infirmary. Was he really that far gone? No, it must have been the food, he did have a sensitive stomach, he always skipped breakfast for the same reason, never eating with the others.

…his lower back starts to ache as a drop of blood hits the ground unheard…

Maybe tomorrow he’ll go out for a walk, get some air, meet some new friends, find some new hobbies. “Tomorrow”, he thought to himself and smiled. His hands stop shaking and he hears heavy breathing. He backs away from the mirror, gently puts on his clothes, and climbs onto his bed. “Good night”, he whispers as loud as he can into the room and shuts his eyes and tries to do the same with his ears.

…he hears an apple being eaten in the other bed…

He wishes for a dream of tomorrow before falling asleep in his freshly bloodied underpants. He wonders how many days he has remaining in prison.

TB
Cambridge, MA
March 3, 2008