I’m covered in a thin sheet of plastic that has a tensile strength of one thousand spider webs. My eyes flicker back and forth in rapid fire action trying to see anything past this veil in front of me–a sugar coating across my cornea.
I hear them, men, out there somewhere, clad in white canvas uniforms with blue masks (or what I can only envision as blue) talking about what might be going on inside my shrowd, the one that keeps me immobile and trapped. They watch me, approaching up to the onion skin, translucent layer and peer inside, trying to focus on my face. Some smile when our eyes connect. Others act as if they haven’t looked.
Sooner or later, they back away and that’s when their whisperings, their chatterings, their discussions begin.
I’m troubled by these men. How many? I can’t say–sounds like three but maybe one has gone missing. Maybe, now, there remains only two . Two men watching, moving.
An infernal scraping sound alerts me to their location. A scraping and now a loud hissing. And, the smell. Surgical, clinical, yet sweet and nearly satisfying to breathe in. A smell of beige. How can that be, a color owning an odor? But, there it is again, wafting on a soft breeze under my nose attached to a hissing scrape and these men mumbling.
A new scent enters the scene. The peppery toxic vapor of tobacco. Makes me want to vomit. How can they be anywhere near me, at this stage of the game, me, helpless to say or do anything about them smoking! Yet, they do. A cruelty that will go unpunished like all the other cruelties they bestow upon me now in my lone sarcophagus…
We’re having the house painted! Or, should I say, re-painted. The weather has beaten the southeastern side of the our walls and has left them chipped and tattered. The “men” here are the painters. They’ve covered all of any exits–doors, vents, windows–with a thin ply of plastic, thick enough to distort your view completely but thin enough so that you can track movement.
The wind lifts it like a sail and offers a very sedate quality to the house. Makes me want to take a nap. Like a freshly laundered sheet hanging to dry, my plastic veil yanks at my already tired eyelids downward, downward, down…. shhhhhnnnnnnnkkkkkkkkkkkkkkk!