part d - musings from the wooden coat
When I was alive I believed myself brave and I believed myself good. But when the opportunity came to substantiate this I failed. Porn star can't get hard-on. Mutley Plain. Teenage boy. They stamped on him so many times he can't even recognise his own mother. And she can't hardly recognise him either. I looked the other way. Best not to get involved nowadays. Fuck off. If we all get like that, how's it going to end? I was complicit in that boy's fate. Your friends and family tell you that you did the only thing you could but you know otherwise. And deep down they do too.
There's a frightened little girl nearby. I suppose this is a variation on what happened in Dresden. We're both of us deprived of all but the most basic sensory input. I'm in a box, blind and mute. She's in a damp basement room strapped into her old high-chair, and has been ever since her mother went away. Father feeds her twice a week.
I worry that you won't take this seriously and I don't really know what to do about that. I've tried to be calm and explain myself but in more ways than one I'm in the dark. I know from your greeting that the dialling code is local but apart from that I've got nothing. I don't know who you are and I don't know how often you check your messages. All I do know is that I've turned away from something before, something I could have changed, and the ghost of it still haunts me in death.
Please follow this up, even if it's just to call Charles Cross station. From a crack in the curtains she can see where a neighbour parks his black cab every morning and she can hear trains going by. That puts her to the east of the cemetery. Please follow this up before it's too late.
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