Flexion

She hears Frank exhale, then silence before a ragged, hiccuping intake of breath. She glances over and makes out the shape of him in the moony dimness, flat on his back and still as a tree, arms at his sides like a soldier at attention, and crying soundlessly, eyes screwed shut and face contorted into a mask. His mouth is a black hole of terror. Glinting tears leak into the furrows of discontent etched around his eyes and nose, pour down to wet his freshly barbered hair. She's never seen this, and it's mortifying. They'd warned her about acute pain; she wonders about getting up and giving him some tablets, but she's to look up at the ceiling and spare him the shame of her scrutiny. They lie rigidly side by side.

'When you stood up to run home and call the ambulance,' he says, 'I thought, well, now I've got ten minutes. Now would be the good time to die, while you weren't there. That's what I could give you.'

Cate Kennedy - Like a House on Fire

12:05 p.m. - 2012-12-30