100 days: Day 12


Lonesome Jerome.

The photographs on Jerome’s mantle formed a chronology. From left to right the ravages of time were there to see in bold contrast from one to the next. From beaming child to mid-thirties premature curmudgeon. Each successive image showed Jerome paler and less shapely, his smile waning in synch with the number of dwindling chums that stood by his side or as member of an embrace. Below the mantle, the sequence found an abysmal full stop in the simultaneously drawn yet flabby shape of Jerome himself.

His intense stare was focused on the line of salt he’d poured across the floor. He watched intently as the snails unsuspectingly competed for their untimely deaths. He does this every night, as the loaded box of numbered shells on his sill will testify.

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