![]() ![]() The boy didn’t say anything because he didn’t hear his mother, the images he’d seen filled his head, blocking out everything else. When the lights came on, the boy was still staring at the blank movie screen and might have stayed that way if his parents hadn’t pulled him from the theater.Īll the way home his mother kept wondering out loud what sorts of parents the boy’s friends had if they’d allowed them see such a horrible movie. His mother had wanted to leave immediately after the first disinterred corpse, but his father was made of sterner stuff and began a whispered mantra ‘it’s just a movie’ that lasted until the flames consumed the man-made creature. ![]() It wasn’t a school night and they’d also wanted to see the film so hand in hand, they took him to see a man stitched together from the bodies of the dead and brought to life. It’d been a lie, of course, but whether his parents believed him or not it didn’t matter. We’d met one night when the old man was still a boy-a very precocious and imaginative boy who had somehow convinced his parents to take him to a movie that he’d said all his friends had already seen. He has outlived all his kith and kin and is dying alone.except for me. The old man is dying as I stand at the foot of his bed and watch. A single lamp burns on the bedside table, illuminating a face I barely recognize. The old man is dying in a white room that smells faintly of alcohol swabs and disinfectant and, if I take a deep enough breathe, of urine and decay. ![]()
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