Leja

LEJA | 19 | 4'10 

Leja can't remember the last time he spoke. Perhaps to welcome his mother home. She had been quite ill lately. A cough.. poor thing. Or maybe it was to call out to check on her when she was quiet for too long in her closed-off room. It wasn't peculiar for his mother to not speak to him for weeks on end. Developmentally stunted with little social skills, Leja had always relied on his mother for everything. Though a cruel, impoverished woman who lived off radiated plants from her garden, she made sure that her children were fed. 

Maybe the last time he spoke was when the smell from the other room became too much to endure, specifically when combined with the stabbing pain of starvation in his stomach. Gentle words calling out, hesitant and soft. When the door opened, did he scream? Do the wails of loneliness caused by the realization that you are truly alone count as words? 

Did weeks pass? Days? Months? Years? Did time exist in the room with air made stale from corpse fumes? Did the weeks ride by on centipede legs through tunnels in bone? What did he eat?

[under co]

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