by Bob'n Around
Invisible matters of the mind turned real into the written word.
|Daily SCREAMS!!! win
It is time, more than time, a fine time to . . . but I am getting ahead of myself, aren’t I? You’ve met them, the old withered up, dried out, wrinkled and crinkled desiccated remains of years gone by we call politely ‘our elders’.
I, alone, call them what they are best known by, ‘the Grinch’. It is the expression you first see upon greeting their melting has been hairy eared and nose faces.
You can smell it on every puff, wheeze, cough and wet sniffed exclamation of pained expression. They have wrung out every kind word born upon their cracked peeling dry lips. All that is left are gaseous old fart groans on one end matched by equally noxious breath on the other.
Yes, aches and pains are their specialty, theirs and any others of equally advanced age they chance to meet. Each is a specialist in acquiring the wounded pride of the last of their army facing death head on and battle weary.
It brought a question to my mind I was forced to ponder. Death. What was it that these soldiers of misfortune hung onto that made life still worth living? Was it a ‘last-man-standing’ thing? There had to be more.
This humongous band reeking of what they most avoided seemed mesmerized by devouring the pages for those leaving their ranks, tis’ true. Yet? This seemed a symptom not the cause. I would need to delve deeper beyond the surface.
They cluster, these souls, in nursing homes, thus were easy prey for my machinations. Seeking employ was as easy as filling out a fake resume and job application. The pittance of pay agreed upon I was lead to the basement shoot where rank piles of wet urine soaked laundry slipped down to slap me in the face. My job was to turn these heavily loaded sheets from misplaced toilet holes back into somewhat yellowed dry and wrinkled gatherings on beds to match those living husks of creatures residing there.
My employers and fellow workers were only too glad to have me take double shifts. They liked how I kept the residents quiet. Muffled screams with a pillow held over heads mingled well with fellow snores. I watched the eyes, always the most alive part of us all. Seeing death arrive is as simple a thing as that.
It is a study in the making. Silence is golden. No whispers of despair or words of past longing distract the moment. Life meets death in such a pure and fragile greeting and then is gone. A dull clouding over of light.
I study still, moving from nursing home employment as need arises in this clime of pandemic there is no hurry. I’ve taken to recording my work with my video camera of my smart phone. And now?
It is time to compare the results with a younger population. Veteran disability hospitals. Keeping your eyes closed won't help. They always pop open at the right time. Are you ready?