——– IT’S BEEN a long day , and he ’ s perched on the edge of an unmade bed , unlit cigarette between crooked teeth , cold shaky hand negotiating with an empty lighter . Sunken eyes examine the rips in his jeans , becoming a bit too threadbare , perhaps — a trip to the shops ?
Blue hair , bleached and glowing like an electric halo as the evening ’ s last red sun pours in through the window , adorned only by gauzy curtains . The house had come furnished , dusty .
He his the roof when a voice fills the room , a woman ’ s apparition in the doorway . Ghostly and semi - translucent , he ’ s been warned by his doctor about chronic drug abuse leading to hallucination .
“ Who ’ s there ? ”
‘ me. ’ her tone is incredulous, displeased. in life, it had always been an irritation to meet somebody who was unaware of the audiences she commanded, and death is no different. she takes a small, wavering step forward, her frame mirage-like in the late, red-tinted light.
‘ me, as in, this is my house. ’ or was her house, at one point in time. everything prior to this moment of lucidity is one long, hazy headache. ‘ this is my house, and my room, and i’m telling you not to light that cigarette. ’