…3…

Philip and Sheila started taking sleeping pills once Alex received the record player. He had always been something of a night owl and played his classical music late into the night. It was annoying since they lived in such a small apartment, but Sheila said at least he was listening to Beethoven and Rossini, none of that devil rock and roll so beloved by many nasty teenagers these days. Alex was, above all, a cultured boy.

It is strange, sleeping without the pills. The luxury of a natural sleep seemed heavenly for such a very long time, yet Sheila feels let down. No pill and she's hardly slept at all tonight. She goes in and out of her dreams, dreams she can hardly remember—fragments really, snapshots and memories long forgotten. It's all a monochrome blur of factory work and afternoons with her little boy in the park and the romantic walks along the marina so, so long ago. It is not a pleasant night, but Sheila gets through it.

It's Saturday. Philip wears a gray suit with a new blue tie. Sheila is decked out in a pink wig, matching coat, and white go-go boots. They go out for breakfast, talk about the weather and what's playing at the cinema today over burnt eggs and sausage. They almost decide to go to the pictures, but change their mind. They stroll the park for forty-five minutes until Philip gets stomach cramps. They return to the flatblock apartment and doze off by the radio. Sheila is the first to get up; she decides to make some soup for lunch, something light so as not to aggravate Philip's stomach even further.

But then, Sheila gasps over the stove. She turns to Philip with wide eyes, her face especially pale compared to her bright pink wig.

"Whatever will we do with his snake?" she asks, her voice hushed. It is almost as though she is afraid Alex were somewhere near, listening in the darkened corners of the apartment.

Both stare at one another, thinking of the drawer beneath Alex's old bed where the snake lays, no doubt coiled and sleeping and horrible.

"We can hardly keep it," mumbles Philip, rubbing the back of his neck.

"No, no— we'd not know how to care for it," Sheila replies. "But what can we do about it?"

There is the unspoken solution hanging between them. Neither wants to say the awful word aloud. Neither really wants to resort to such an act. But then again, Alex has a fourteen years sentence. Snakes did not live so long, did they? Surely not. Basil would not see his master return home, should nature take its course—

…

Sheila and Philip walk along the marina like they did in the old days, before marriage, before Alex. Philip carries a large white cardboard box in his arms, struggling a little with the weight. The snake is much heavier, but he is still sleeping and barely stirred when the couple had moved him from his drawer.

They stop and stare over the body of water. Philip holds his breath. He kneels down, gently places the box into the water, taking great care not to fall in himself. The two of them watch as it is pulled beneath the brown-blue surface. He is gripping Sheila's hand so hard that his knuckles are white. They stay there like that for fifteen minutes, until Sheila feels the tears pricking the corners of her eyes.

"We should go home," she says. "I think your program is about to come on."

"Yes," Philip replies, nodding. "And maybe some tea…"

They return home. They sit side by side with the radio on, hands intertwined. The apartment is different somehow. The air seems lighter now, as though there were an open window nearby, with a cool summer breeze filtering through the space.

"What will we do now?" asks Philip.

Sheila knows he's about the next fourteen years. It's a rather serious question, the sort they never much asked during all their eighteen years of marriage.

"I suppose carry on as usual," she says quietly. "Maybe redecorate… a little."

"Yes," he says. "Yes, why not?"

Not another word is said. They doze off as the lady singer on the radio croons on.

A/N: And that is the conclusion! I enjoyed writing this story. I'd like to put some more fics on this archive in the future; I do have some ideas, but they are mostly comedic in nature. Still, I hope you enjoyed this O my brothers!