...
Nobody knew why it happened, but it did. And afterwards, we were certain of only one thing. From this time on, there was this world. This world that was dying. And then there was the other world. I begged you not to go, but my begging did no good. You went anyway. 'I have to find out,' you said. 'And when I've found out, I'll come back for you. And then we can go together.' You packed your belongings and some food into a small rucksack and kissed me. Then you climbed out the window and were gone. * * Each day there is a little less light. I sleep, eat, pace the room. Each day at two in the afternoon, Mr Stone, the lodger in the basement, brings me my food parcel. Occasionally he gives me a stolen biro. He knows in the previous life - the one before there were two worlds - that I wrote for a living. He imagines the comfort that the simple act of putting words onto paper must give me. M
