Heart shaped locket

Well if you would just shut up then maybe I can tell you the story.

What’s that? Not the one about the pocket watch? Well it was a locket, not a watch so that just goes to show how little you listen.

Yes that means I’m going to tell the locket story now shut up.

I had just returned from the store and, having seen both the highs and lows of humankind I decidedly locked my door and returned to the social warmth of an empty room. Paradise comes in few forms, none of which have two legs and know what cashmere is. Finding very little on my scavenger hunts/shopping trips meant that I was not only literally starving but also greatly in need of water – in an unfortunate turn of events both of these problems were solved fairly quickly with the bottle of [name brand alcohol!] I had been keeping for the occasion of my not-entirely-unexpected demise. Drinking liquor meant for one’s own death has the tendency to liven my tongue and loosen my inhibition; and so, mary was left enjoying the tales of my past, before all That Stuff happened.

Look if you’re going to keep complaining then you tell the next part.

…

You’re no Camus. An author mary, an author.

No mary neither am I, but nonetheless I think I should keep telling the story.

A stream of obtrusive and generally unwelcome light pried my eyes open, and a throbbing equally unwelcome ear splitting headache forced them shut again. This little eyeball dance continued for much of what I could only assume was a morning created by an evil god. Most mornings started like this, and most nights ended as the last did, as you so articulately described, mary.

By late afternoon the outside was once again Habitable both for my hungover eyeballs and for my skin in general. I was pushed out into the street once more by the incessant sobbing of my neglected stomach and a strange sense of optimism. Once again I was faced by the rush and bustle of a busy city [I’m lying]. Listening to the chattering of my neighbours allowed me to gleam what fantastic and truly interesting events had taken place since my last walk through the [remains] suburbs of my hometown. The old guy at the end of my street had died, I think his name was Jon. He had white hair and he was one of the few people on this road that I actually connected with – largely because he also seemed to disappear at the first sign of social interaction [he is rotting in the living room].

This isn’t about Jon, it’s about his house, my last shopping place before I had to step out of town to search. As always I tried the door before the window; my mother always [screamed in agony] said that I was disarmingly polite. It’s simply just good manners to try the door. Jon, as I have mentioned is dead, and as of this time he was also dead, so the door opened with ease. I remember being thankful because I am not very athletic and the window was higher than I was particularly willing to climb to, especially on a day when double vision would have been ideal compared to the pain induced moments of blindness I was experiencing. Once inside it was the usual process of embodying my inner rat and searching for something I might maybe want to eat. This includes the following: tinned food, non-perishable snacks, [Jon], and realistically dog food on a bad day.

Of course it was just my luck to not only not find food. Rather instead, lying on the kitchen floor I found [Mary] a heart shaped locket.

2 weeks. That’s how long it takes for a watch to break with water damage. The locket I found had was dealing with more than just water damage.

I know you don’t like this story mary.

Actually I think the locket was beautiful, in fact I wrote a poem about it.

Okay you can read the poem.

…

Stunning.

I tried to fix the locket, in fact I wanted to fix it so much that I passed out from exhaustion while I worked. I don’t know when it happened but I realised eventually that despite all the love and care that I felt I would die before I manage to fix the locket; so many gears and pieces I don’t have, so much to do with too little in my [stomach] brain.

I sat in Jon’s kitchen, amongst tacky furnishings and lazily placed condiments (all empty). You were there Mary. I remember speaking, my voice hoarse from disuse. You laughed at me as I coughed, made a joke I can’t remember now.

My narrative is breaking down.

I tried to put the locket together, I looked at all the components and truly tried my best to fix [you] it. I promise I tried.

It takes 2 weeks for a watch to break from water damage, but it took a day for the locket to finish ticking. I tried to make it quicker, but I was so hungry mary, you understand.

The story of the heart shaped locket… or was it a watch? I don’t remember now. Do you think Mary is happy? I’m sorry I know. I do love to speak to you though, it helps me [feel] sleep. I’m not good at talking to you mary. How about another story?

Do you know, mary, about the tale of Erysikhthon?

…

mary don’t interrupt me

…

mary there’s not much of us left.