The moment he saw the body tumbling down the wall of the apartment building, fast and chaotic, spinning for a split second, then pointing straight to the ground, he knew there was no rush to call an ambulance, but found himself wanting to call for it and make sure, they knew, he didn’t push her. Time slowed down, as it seemed her rib cage just exploded, hitting the concrete. It was a warm summer evening, the sky was just turning orange and life was vividly pulsating everywhere but in the backyard of what used to be his home.
As a crow flew off, disturbed by his appearance, not the piece of meat laying in a grotesque posture, still trenched in a silken bath robe, his mind was playing tricks on him. She seemed to move. While his hand was searching for the phone in his pockets, to call that ambulance, to make sure, she really didn’t, he dug out a filthy blue handkerchief. An impossible piece of memory. This was, he recalled, the one, he had wrapped the rings up in, to surprise her at that dinner party, where he planned to place it in a carrot cake she had prepared earlier, but which they had never attended. Instead they went to see a movie and when the credits came on, they were already engaged. How could this piece of cloth be here, with him, when he had thrown it away years ago, at one of the many removals it took, to get to this city. Upon appearance of this token, he pretended he couldn’t see her move, from the corner of his eye, move like a half dead stray, making very un-dead noises, grunting, breathing heavily.
He stopped running in circles, like a tiger in a zoo display, and dug out the phone. He dialed, stared at the appliance, then listened into the silence, and silence it was. When he looked up, she was gone and so was the scenery. He stood aboard a small boat, slowly fading into thick mist.
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