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Cold bones and hollow veins anchored Reuben Remus to the corner. He shrunk into the hardwood and cupped his ears to guard himself from the sadness around him. Panicked cries and frenzied shouts battered the outside of his window. Despair disturbed the curtains overhead, which played with the light shining through, slicing the room with shadows every time the Nazis forced someone into the back of their trucks. And there was the sorrow spoken directly at him from across the hall – a congealed wallowing of an old man who was ignored by Death.

Reuben Remus’s solitude stretched the room past nowhere and to infinity. The vertical wood panels extended so far that the milk and blood seeping past the doorway of room 5F seemed like they existed in a distant world, while the walls around Reuben Remus pressed so narrowly that his shoulders shrunk inwardly. There was no black and white perspective to take him away from the pain. He saw the color spectrum entirely and heard the frequency of broken families. The illusory expanse choked his throat, and as the claustrophobia entered his heart so did a mouthful of angry cursing. He accused the golden woman of cowardice for not coming to the rescue. He prayed to her, calling her epithet aloud, so she could hear his hatred. Save us your blind salvation, golden woman, for you have doomed us all…

 

About Connor Wilkins

Quickly, quickly... take your seat. Our storyteller is about to begin. Shhhh. Listen... His pipes are fluting emotions of myth and fable, but don't be fooled by fantasia for there are truths hidden within his unworldly tellings. We're drifting now... back in time to a world only he remembers.
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