The walls, slate gray and barren, stood steadfast and firm. The floor, a deep tan carpet, showed a few stains, but nothing a good steaming would not get rid of. The ceiling hung short and sagging, with mildew at the edges and watermarks throughout.
The woman: stout but powerful, her dark, wrinkled skin and red and silver hair contrasted her joyous pink windsuit and green-on-white jogging shoes. Her cheeks colored in rage, mouth opened in argument, gray eyes softened by sudden pain. Laugh lines on her face drawn taut by too much emotion. Crimson ringlets encircled her face as a shroud. Her knees weakened, ankles loosened, spine slackened.
The man: tall, but with all the power of the other, poised as if to block the woman’s way. His lanky arms crossed in defiance, blue eyes narrowed by conflict, blond hair molded to immobility. Surprise barely touched his form in response to the woman’s slackening. His white suit was coffee-stained in front. A broken mug lie fallen at his feet; coffee-soaked carpeting surrounded his slick white shoes.
Play.
The woman falls, suddenly clutching at her chest. Noise, a yelling voice, fills her ears. The Darkness edges into her vision, the circle of light shrinks.
The man is gripping her. Her eyes glaze, then shut. Lowering her, he runs out of the hall. She moans in agony, unable to do any more.
The man returns; his apologies rain down upon her. She does not hear; she hears nothing. The agony fades, just like the vision. The Darkness starts to corrode her feeling. A tingling line ebbs up her body. Her legs are gone, her arms, her torso. The ringing in her ears fades. At last she can hear, and all that is left is “I’m sorry Momma, I’m sorry.”
The woman smiles, and then her ears have joined the rest of her body, and she lets the soft flicker of vision alight on the man. The last she sees is his tear-stricken face, softened by love and lined by fear. She tries to console him, but the flicker goes out.
