It should start out with an isaiah scripture "and the girlies will be all
snobby and get scabs on their heads and such"
...and the next day he didn't even want to look at her at all. When he
awoke he rolled over towards the wall consciously before opening his
eyes. The normal morning routine except without checking to see if she
was stirring because he was brushing his teeth too loud or the old
thrift store chest of drawers was disturbing her sleep.
"Honey?", she said, in that unattractive morning voice as he continued
putting on his pants hoping that she would, in her depressed state, just
fall back asleep and leave him alone. The problem was, however, that she
was getting strong, too strong. No longer was she timidly second
guessing herself or his love for her anymore. Neither was she making any
attempts whatsoever to cover her putrid, ugly state, as if she had
accepted it and was now using it to her advantage. Even though it made
no sense that it would give it to her.
"John, come over here", she was now mostly conscious and starting to get
angry, so he knew that today was not the day he would be able to get out
of the room with out having to see her.
"Ahhem", she cleared her cottony throat and he walk over to the side of
the bed.
"Hi" she said and he looked up at her.
She was almost completely bald on the top of her head just like eighty
percent of the women of the world had become in the past 5 years. She
had a couple of tufts remaining that had once given him hope that
she...or he would be one of the lucky ones passed over by the epidemic that, despite its boundless reach, was seldom spoken of. The world continued much as it had the days before as if the scourge of almost all the women of the world was a blemish, that if left alone, would be gone in a few days, given that she could keep from picking at it.
The sides of her head were still covered with hair, long hair, like an
old man who had long since lost the desire to take care of something
that was dissolving so quickly everywhere else. All of it was pulled
back into what would have been called a pony-tail in years past, but now
just looked like a man from an old japanese movie.
"I need you to touch me" she said in that shakey flem-laced voice and
he conceded.
He put his hand under the covers and went to work, happy that he at
least didn't have to waste time taking off his pants again.. He knew how to
make fast work. She moaned and came on his hand and...
it was over.
Without a word she rolled back over and went back to sleep. He felt dirty
and used and left the room as quick as he could not wanting the
possiblity of any more work this morning. His retreat was the kitchen
where he took out the extra strength-pot scrubbing-tear the flesh from
bones-dish soap out from under the sink and washed his hands a few times before
leaving for his day.
