We all live in Sophie’s closet. The six of us. It’s … the sort of door that snaps, shut. We didn’t know that. So there’s no getting out, from in. Alas.
During the day – well, it’s always night. But there’s decided day, decided night. We decided … half the time would be day, and half night. In our daytime, we move around. We can’t … walk, really. Or fully stand. But we can move, and moving feels good. From time to time.
At night, we sleep one on top of the other. There’s no room for any nightclothes, underclothes. If someone coughs … it’s considered sex.
Lately I cannot urinate. There is nothing to urinate, out. As always I excuse myself, and I crouch, in a corner. But instead of urinating … I weep. I weep – only there are no tears.
I wish we had not eaten, the mothballs. For now, when we sleep, the moths … we are their nourishment. The soft skin of the eyelids. The ridges, of the ear. There has been a moth somewhere moving, in my inner ear, for a week. This happened, once, to my grandfather. By holding a candle to his ear, he lured the moth out. We have no candles. Alas.
My friend is Jemma. She is the one I speak to most often. In the daytime, and often at night. She is mute. And yet … she speaks. Brushing my hand, or my cheek. Like a gentle moth. So gently. Though she is so ill. We all wonder, what will happen.
Our situation, I’ve thought about, many times. Over the years. And there is always one thing, one thing, again and again, that I wonder….
Will Sophie ever change her clothes?
