Another busy day. I still cannot believe the technician let Deni smoke a menthol cigarette during their battery change.
I was holding their hand when she removed the empty cartridge. The container was greasy, black oil dripping off the rim, and thin strands of copper wire trailing from the back.
Deni’s hand was no less cold than usual. Their fingers grasped mine in a uniform grip that had not wavered when the battery plopped out. But still I could tell something had changed at the moment of disconnection. They flopped forward a few millimetres, and when I ask if they are alright I might as well have asked the table.
The technician had tattoos, and cogs all the way from her ankle to her hip. They provided a calm background of ticking to the whole procedure. I am guessing guests do not usually attend, and she confirmed in a brusque manner that Deni was now switched off, and lacked the ability to hear me.
She pulled out the circle, snapping off the trailing copper. I suppose at that moment Deni was dead. I know that is not really correct, and that people have dedicated their lives to providing a more specific answer than that. But it does make me want to wrap my arms around them. The internal works are hidden, and the rational part of me knows this is no different to having breakfast. But I keep hold of their hand, and know this is the place I must be at this moment in time.
Rationality pleads that the radio report is coincidence too. The voice that said another one has been found. Wrapped in hundreds of sheets of plastic, head up as if gasping for breath in the middle of the ocean. The cooling mechanism long bust.
That is as much as I am going to write about that.
The operator was grey with muck by the time she was finished. She let me wipe the sludge of Deni's back. A light click confirmed that power was restored, alongside the sentence.
‘Venus…imagine inserting…dried seaweed into your…back. It would make meals…more efficient.’
I do not think the operator got Deni’s humour.
Back home, and avoiding the news. Deni must know by now. But I am so glad that she was not around to hear that first report this afternoon. That we spent the time holding hands instead.
Sat in the dark for a while tonight, and watched the plants on the building opposite wave in the breeze.
Clip: A mysterious clip today. Imagine staring up at that building in the night. Playing those musical notes. Still beautiful, but I understand this is the tune of another dimension, and it haunts me.