In silence they sit.
The corner’d flickscreen flashes gaudy colours to wash over their numb faces as blank waves. Ancient laughter permits them to smile, yet they smile not.
Once tender, love wilted to shrivel crinkle beige. Now, they sit. Now, they screen gawk. Oblivious to the crackle breath and deadthought of the other.
So far are they as they sit side by side. This is life. This is eternity, stretching before them infinite screen, infinite stare, infinite numbness.
Beyond this suffocate room festoon’d with webs as tinsel, lorries thunder down Duskfield Road. Cars hurtle to myriad destinies, streaks that mesh and fuse before diverging to homes and offices and funerals and supermarkets.
None exists within. All is numb to the flickscreen and the silence of deaden’d hearts burnt to charcoal. And the dead laugh, and the living live a death.