"It's infected", she stated.
"I know", he said.
"What do we do now that it's infected?", she asked while swatting the flies from his wound. "It looks fucking awful."
"What can we do?"
"We've got to do something."
"No we don't", he said while straining his eyes to look at her. The fever made physical movement increase his headache, so he remained still. It took concentrated effort to speak, and when he spoke, his words were hoarse. He licked his lips, but no moisture was coming. Unconsciously he itched the wound that had become the means of his demise, the cause of it all. He stopped when blood got on his fingers and cleaned them on his shirt.
"We don't have any medicine. No antibiotics. No painkillers. ", he noted while using his arm to shield his eyes from the sun that flowed unfiltered through the leafless tree branches. The light was the worst pain of all. What have I become? I flee from the sun. I flee from the sounds. I flee from this world. His thoughts were quick to the negative.
"There has to be something we could do." she said, intent on creating a solution. The inability to affect the outcome of the situation was disheartening. She was used to having resources available to solve problems. Without the resources, the options dwindled. If a pipe had a leak, she'd buy a wrench and fix it. If she was sick she'd buy medicine. What am I supposed to do? Make my own antibiotics from plants? She looked at the dirt at her feet. There are no plants anyways.
The wounded man stole a glance at her. She looked like she was contemplating something deep. Something important. She was staring at the wall with arms folded. The pose was an illusion, as she wallowed in self pity, 'You are a worthless dummy, and you are going to be all alone because of it.' She saw him looking and smiled.
He turned his head so she would not see his tears. All he wanted was for the intense pain to stop. In the back of his mind, he knew there was only one way for the pain to stop. But he didn't want that either. He did not want this nor that. He just wanted the pain to stop. 'If I die, does the pain stop?', he thought. A thought that led to a string of thoughts about existence, death, and the afterlife. And the existence of an afterlife.
"Do you want water? I'll get some water", she interrupted. She wanted to get him water, and temporarily flee the uncomfortable circumstance.
He grabbed her arm. "Stay. I don't want to be alone."
"Ok. Is there something that you want to discuss?"
"I don't want to talk."
Together for the last time, they sat in silence.
