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He lay in his bed, rotting yet still breathing. The stench of him assaulted her nose, but Asuncion continued to push her broom across the floor. She always made quick work of this room. A bit of dust under the bed, a grimy chair. No one would notice. Certainly, he would not, because he couldn't leave the bed.
What does he know? she wondered. He could not speak. He could not even turn around without help. And yet, sometimes, she caught his eyes following her as she maneuvered the broom, or wiped a door handle.
What do you see? she was tempted to ask him. Is there anyone in there?
She forced the thought from her head. Not her business. She was a cleaner. Invisible, as he was. Insignificant, as he was.
Today he watched, or did he? Those eyes. Maybe it was an illusion, the way it seemed sometimes eyes in a picture followed her.
She worked even faster, so she could leave, get away from those eyes and that stench.
It was the end of the night shift. The sun was bright as she fumbled with the keys to unlock her Ford Pinto. The cloth seats welcomed her aching back. She was proud of the way she maintained this car. Few people would believe how pristine the interior of a vintage car could be.
Traffic on the road was going in the opposite direction. They were heading to work. She was going home. With every passing moment, every mile, she put the idea of the hospital out of her mind.
The lane narrowed. Trees overhead cast a comforting shade. Her small apartment complex was in the shadows, barely visible from the road. Private. She came and went usually without seeing anyone. Her reserved spot was never taken. There was no trash around the building. Which is why she noticed a red something moving near the forest that abutted the parking lot.
A fox. Sick. No, not sick. Injured, its leg jutting at an odd angle, its breath labored. Asuncion stepped closer and the fox struggled to its feet, dragging the useless leg. The animal was seeking cover in the trees.
Foxes carry rabies she thought, as she kept her distance. Still, she followed. The animal managed to go several yards into the woods and then finally collapsed. Asuncion knew she could safely take a closer look.
Why did she? She was tired, craved breakfast, her lounge chair, the morning paper. But there was the fox, its chest rising and falling rapidly as it fought to live.
She was near now. Its eyes were open wide. They stared up at her. She moved around to try and assess whether she could safely help the animal. As she did, the eyes followed. Those eyes. What did the fox understand? What did it know? Despite its anguish, the animal did not make a sound.
She was riveted to the spot. Could not avert her gaze. She had seen people die. She knew what was coming. And then she saw it happen.
What was the difference between life and death? There it was, in the fox's eyes. One minute here. One minute gone.
Why was she weeping? Sobs overwhelmed her. Her body shook. Tears streamed. She looked at those lifeless eyes and felt a bottomless sorrow.
Slowly she collected branches and brush from the forest floor. She began to blanket the animal, gently, solemnly. Eventually she had the fox covered so that its small grave was indistinguishable from the other debris that time had allowed to accumulate under the trees.
Her tears stopped flowing as she performed the burial ritual. When she finally turned to leave, there was a sense of peace. Though she couldn't save the fox she had done the only thing in her power: she cared, and showed respect.
Author's Note
This story has been percolating in my head for a couple of weeks, ever since the prompt Shadow was offered. Finally last night I sat down to write, two weeks late :)
The fox image is borrowed from @redheadpei on #LIL, the LMAC Image Library on Hive. The library is a repository of public domain images.
Beautiful. The parellel between the sick man and the dying fox is clear. It seems your character only has real permission to feel for and cry for the dying fox - she is not paid to tidy up around it. The fox's death is clearer, less muddied by her role as a cleaner, although she does, in a sense, honour the fox with a tidy and appropriate grave. A very poignant piece that I enjoyed muchly.
I do appreciate this comment. Mostly these days I write essays, and so I have to be careful about being overly didactic. I'm glad you found it beautiful. Writing fiction allows for symbolism and parallels that essays don't readily accommodate.
You are so right: that poor woman has to turn off her humanity at work for a number of reasons. One is that she is 'only a cleaner'. It's not her job to care for someone. Another is that, in order to be in the hospital and see the suffering every day, she has to shut down. But the fox...it finds her disarmed, at home, where she can see the suffering. Where she can respond.
Thanks so much for your comment. It means a lot to me.
You are welcome. You executed this perfectly, without overdoing it, or filling in unnecessary backstory.
Yes! And I imagine the darkness as well - a private space. I adored the image.
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What an emotional ending ❤️ I do wonder if it changed the way she looked at the patient at the hospital?
!PIZZA !ALIVE
Hello @wrestlingdesires,
Thank you very much for reading. That is a great question. That is exactly the response I was hoping for.
Will she? Can she? Or will it be too emotionally overwhelming to face this anguish every day? This is a problem for people who are charged with caring for the sick, or who are around suffering regularly. Or maybe, for all of us, who see suffering around us. Do we see it? Do we shut our eyes? Can we bear it?
Thanks for that sensitive response.
I think if it has awakened her, she will probably have to find a new job :( ... Few if any could deal with that every day.
This is so exquisitely done, the eyes of the living and the eyes of the dead. I think it’s so true that you can see so much by just looking into the eyes of an animal or a human - intelligence, joy, weariness, knowledge (much as she saw the shadow of knowledge cross the fox’s eyes before he succumbed). Dreadfully sad, beautifully rendered. ❤️🤗💕🤗🤗❤️❤️🤗💕🤗❤️
Thank you so much for that kind assessment. The basic idea came to me a couple of weeks ago, but I didn't feel I could write it until the other day. I'm glad you found the story affecting.
We just have to take the time to look and then have the courage to see what is there :)
Hope you have a great week.
A beautiful story A.G @agmoore. Amazing connection with the eyes from the man in the bed to the eyes of the dying fox following her. I understand the woman’s pain while watching the fox die. It something I don’t like to witness…especially when you can do nothing to help the animal.
I appreciate you used the image of the fox and the fox likes it too. 😊 🦊
Wishing you a wonderful Friday, my friend A. G. ☀️
Thank you for visiting my friend, @redheadpei. I'm so happy you see the connection of the eyes. My son said the same thing about the fox. It was too sad for him.
Of course your fox was essential to the story. Isn't he/she beautiful? Thank you. I forgot to put the 2% beneficiary (I'm not in LMAC mode here🙂). I know you don't mind, but I will catch you on the other end. I like having your images in my story. It's like bringing a friend along.
Have a wonderful week, dear @redheadpei
Most welcome A. G. @agmoore. Not to worry about the beneficiary. I’m just pleased you include me in your lovely story.
Raining here this A.M. I hope you are enjoying a wonderful day, my dear friend. 😊 ☀️
Oh, this is an exquisite story, @agmoore. It is a perfect example of flash fiction, with the right mix of mood and tension, a conflict and a story arc. I love the similarities and differences between the man whose room she cleans and the fox. In the case of the bedridden man, she is helpless and a bystander to his pain, but with the fox she can fully experience her sadness and can do something to reconcile what she feels. Perhaps the tears are not just for the fox. Well done!
Thank you @jayna. Can I confess that when I wrote this I had a thought about how it might seem to your practiced eye? Of course, every time I read it I see something to change, but it was fun to write and I'm so glad that my very special audience 'heard' my message.
Thank you for that wonderful prompt. Shadow. It hit me, but I was so busy I couldn't stop to put something together. A great prompt can give rise to many stories.
I appreciate your kind words.
(You are so right...the tears are not just for the fox. They were suppressed and controlled, but finally she was free to feel emotions that had been there all the time. She cries for the fox, and the man, and all the other suffering she has seen at the hospital.)
Oh, I'm verklempt! That's so wonderful of you to say that I was in your thoughts when you wrote the story. It really is a gem, @agmoore. I devoured every word!
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