hanne lydia
 

 

 

Pizza and Death

 

 

 

He had been ill for a long time.

Outside the window there was an enormous chimney that penetrated the layer of clouds.

It reminded me of a crematorium.

He was awaiting his turn.

It was June, but everything was grey. The North wind was icy.

Every day he became less of himself. He was becoming something else.

He was gasping for breath for three days.

We were on tenterhooks; we did not recognize him or ourselves.

On the final day we were desperately hungry.

We had to have food to follow him into death; it could take all night.

The hospital was huge, but there was nothing to eat.

We jumped in the car and found a random pizza place.

The man behind the counter was a foreigner; he was unusually friendly.

We were given garlic sauce for free.

We returned to eat it in the waiting room.

The staff were alone with the dying patient.

We only managed a few mouthfuls.

A young nurse arrived and asked us to come through.

He gasped one last time; it was quick.

We stood around him. This is it, said the nurse.

I asked for a chair.

We had promised him we would be there and made it just in time.

 

 

 

 

 

 

HLOK 2011

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

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