Seven Days

Little piece of writing I just found on my computer that I did years ago. Not very good, but I thought I'd post it anyway :)

~*~

On the first day...

...The grief set as far as his skin. It hovered around him, pressed into him, and surrounded him like an invisible sheet of sorrow. The pressure felt as if it could cave him in.

On the second day...

...The grief went through his skin, into his cells. It walked with him everywhere he went, and lived within his skin, surrounding him in a pinpointed way of grief, giving no breathing room.

On the third day...

...The grief fused itself into his blood. It came from the inside out, threatening to turnout his body as well as his life plans and soul on gable point. It is running through him.

On the fourth day...

...The grief is in his limbs. They will not move without ache, without pressure applied, without work. Breathing is work now. In. Out. In. Out. Keep breathing, he tells himself, keep breathing.

On the fifth day...

...The grief is in his stomach. He sits on his bed, looking out the window. He takes medical textbooks off the shelves, only to leave them open on his lap. He feels ill with realization.

On the sixth day...

...The grief is in his heart. It has pierced surely as any bullet. It sits there, hung on moving cords like a puppet, walking, walking, he paces and paces, and hopes that it will just drop dead.

On the seventh day...

...The grief is in his eyes, which go black at the realization. It oozes out with tears never before shed. It eases itself out of the heart, out of the stomach, the cells, and the skin.

She's gone.