There were no further raps at the door.
It felt stifling inside the house. I dared
not open any windows. We needed to
give the appearance of being away.
It was such a shame that Mrs Eames
was all alone in hospital. I prayed she
was making a full recovery. There was
nothing to prevent me from telephoning,
so I rang the ward. After an interminable
wait, a sullen nurse explained how
nothing had changed. Mrs Eames was
comfortably sedated. I thanked the curt
woman, and hung up. William was fiddling
obsessively with his phone. It was time to
make dinner. Money was growing short.

Author: Robert James Berry

Poet & Novelist

812 thoughts on “Limbo”