The Water Bearer

He was soaked to the bone. From the doorway, Jim could see his shriveled blue fingertips, curled like flower petals. Around one gleamed his new gold wedding band.

The room, the smell, became too much for Jim, and he lurched to the window, threw it open, and dry heaved into the morning air.

Looking down, he saw green stains along the grass where he had seen them a week earlier. They led to the side of the house, up the siding and across the windowsill his hands gripped tightly.

Snatching his hands back, he turned them over. His palms were stained a dark, dead green.


“Death by misadventure,” he said, lighting up a fresh cigarette. “That’s what the coroner wrote in his report. But no one who was in that room believed that.”

He exhaled a cloud of smoke, and I took a drink from the warm beer I held.

About me

This is me: home-writer, book-reader, dog-lover and occasional poet. I make this website to share my and my friends texts with You, dear Reader. Please: read carefully, don't be scary, upgrade your mood and be king and leave your comment. :)