When I opened the bathroom door this morning the smell of hydrogen sulfide and ammonia hit me like a furnace. I reeled back, blinded and dizzy, retching like I was going to bring up a huge hairball. When my eyes cleared I made out John, slumped to one side in his chair looking all rubbery and dead. A dark brown liquid was dripping from various places off his chair and collecting in stagnant pools between the gaps of the floor tiles.

I pulled my t-shirt up over my nose and rushed in. “John!” I screamed “John, can you hear me?” If he could, he wasn't letting on. I poked his head and watched in horror as it tumbled lifelessly over to the other side and his glasses fell off. Shit! He needed to be moved... to get some fresh air. Forgetting I had tied the handbrake down I took a hold of the wheelchair and made to swing it around. John's entire upper body now fell forward. It looked like he was trying to suck himself off. Fuck, shit, fuck! I pulled him up by the hair and tried to balance his head into a respectable position. But no matter how hard I tried it just kept lolling off to one side of the other. Finally it tipped back and made a sickening snapping sound as it came to rest and the neck pulled taut. His Adam's apple looked as if it would poke right through the skin. Then John's eyes opened – though not in a good way. It was like when you hold a doll upside down. His eyeballs were rolled completely around and showing only white. Well, white shot through with tiny red and purple blood vessels. He looked just about ready for the morgue. Panic was manifest.

Thoughts rushed through my head, each one sparking off the start of an action.

My body turned this way to go phone for help... My foot started that way to go and get a knife... My arm made out to open the window...

In the confusion of thoughts, half thoughts and intentions, I found myself flustered and indecisive. For what should have been the most intense flurry of activity in my life I was rooted to the spot. Meanwhile, John seemed to be sliding down in his chair, as if being eaten away by all the excreted liquids, gasses and bacterias he was sitting on.

I had to do something... anything. It was time to prioritize. It was time to make a list...

(To be cont'd...)


  1. In case of emergency dial 999 -

    No wait - just sit down and make a list!

    And have a nice cup of tea while you're at it.

    And a Jammie Dodger.

    He's faking it.

  2. Oh, he's not faking it... if only he were.

    Just writing the next part now... X

  3. Oh come on! Please say that John just dies in the next part!!! Or say that he goes to the hospital and then becomes an angel and comes back to Tristy and they live happily ever after.

    This blog is uncanny: it screws up my brains and my days in the same way John plays around with Tristy's life. It's like this blog is MY John! *sigh*

  4. Oh Amak, then I'm afraid you're going to suffer terribly...

    But my writing often has that effect on people..



  5. It's okay! I'm still a fan! :-)


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