He opened his blurry eyes. Golden evening light fell through the window, illuminating the particles in the air. Before him lie his beloved. Not yet his wife, by legal standards. She was the little spoon. Her brunette hair was coated by a thin layer of dust.

Little spoon.

Spoon.

How long had it been since they had eaten? He couldn't remember. Everything had gone to shit. He didn't have the energy to stroke her hair. His bony wrist rested limply on her concave side. He couldn't tell if she was breathing. He could not check. He closed his eyes and drifted away. She would never be his wife.

The flies found them.

---


By Adaline Guerra