They were seated in the sitting room of the small hospice apartment. The cloying odor of disinfectant hung in the air. Fading twilight filled the space. Somewhere in the hall a pneumatic door opened and then whispered closed. An outside chill passed into and through the room.
“Look at me,” she said. You promised me eternal life. Now just look at me.” She ran her withered fingers through what was left of her wisping gray hair. She could feel strands breaking loose.
“I am looking at you,” he whispered. “I promised you eternal life. I didn’t promise you eternal youth.”
“Look at me,” she said. You promised me eternal life. Now just look at me.” She ran her withered fingers through what was left of her wisping gray hair. She could feel strands breaking loose.
“I am looking at you,” he whispered. “I promised you eternal life. I didn’t promise you eternal youth.”
