Christina A. Sharik


I wonder how long it’s been exactly, and I wonder if they know I’m still
alive. If she thinks I’m dead, is she still mourning me, or has she
found someone else to comfort her? If only I could know! If only I could
scream, “I’m here; I’m still alive!” But only the guards would hear.

Sometimes I ache to hear a friendly voice, to eat an ice cream cone, to
swim, to dance, to pay the bills, to wash the car, to touch my wife,
to hold my son. I’ve remembered everything we ever did and everything
we ever said, and places where we went, but it was all so long ago.
Sometimes I can’t remember what she sounded like.

It’s night now and I must put remembrances aside. It’s time to finish
the fireplace of my dream home. I can see the bricks quite clearly by
the electric light bulb that burns above me all the night.