Fresh from a long, hot, satisfying bath the man sits in a comfortable armchair; a damp towel wrapped around his hips. He watches an antique TV set perched precariously on a thin wooden shelf. The screen shows two bareknuckle fighters punching one another. Sat in the comfortable armchair next to the radiator, he watches them fight for hours. Eventually, his eyelids flicker as the heating smothers his brain. His chin touches his chest.
A metallic tapping sound emanates from the radiator and stirs him from his snooze. He turns to the radiator’s grey form. He reaches out and touches it and burns his bony fingers. He glances at the mirror on the wall and sees the bed. The reflection is as if he is not present in the room. He stands and moves to a spot directly in front of the mirror, but he is still not visible. Confused, he drops the damp towel to the carpet and looks down at the old flab around his belly. He winces at the sight of his hopeless hanging cock.
Two voices in the corridor outside startle him. He has momentarily forgotten where he is because he keeps thinking he is nowhere. Then it feels like he has been here for a very long time.
He sits back down in the comfortable chair, naked and heavy. The fight on the TV has melted into a speckled white mess and the sound is mute. He watches the endless white noise that replaces his window on the world. He notices the TV set’s antennae are V-signing him. He V-signs back thinking how senseless his actions have become.
He feels hungry but knows he won’t eat. He also feels thirsty but knows once he starts drinking, he will never stop. He feels tired but knows he is unable to sleep peacefully.
He thinks about the ensuite bathroom, how it is too big and too empty. The old tin bath is occupied by the young man who is twenty years old and from a far away place. The man knows the young man is there because he is always there, every time he goes to look, he is there. The young man has been dead for a long time. Pasty and lifeless and with nothing.
Eventually, the man decides to take another look. He stands up his weary bones and drags them into the bathroom. It is still too big and too empty. It is still the way it was when, a long time ago, as a young man, he lay down in the bath and poured his life into the hot, still water to remain in this room for longer than eternity. The man nods at his body and returns to the armchair. He has no recollection of why he ended his life as a young man.
Fresh from a long, hot, satisfying bath the man sits in a comfortable armchair; a damp towel wrapped around his hips. He watches an antique TV set perched precariously on a thin wooden shelf. The screen shows two bareknuckle fighters punching one another. Sat in the comfortable armchair next to the radiator, he watches them fight for hours. Eventually, his eyelids flicker and his chin touches his chest. His thoughts dip away from the two fighters and waltz back into the void.
Somehow this purgatory seems worse than hell. Well done, love the repetition at the end.