Weary and rusted

I Cecil Lowbrow hereby write my will as follow.

The day was dark the hour were late. She sat on the plush chair underneath me. Writing, a thing I have seen her do often lately. As she wrote she spoke. She didn’t speak with fondness like she does with her cats nor hatred like she did over the telephone, she spoke with determination.

I didn’t find it off though. People were sometimes determined, I have noticed over the years, or sometimes they just knew that time were ticking by and that they too need to get everything ready for the so called ‘after life’.

I watched her closely or as close as I can.

Everyday were a struggle for her, but yet she kept going. Nobody bothered to help her; they only showed their faces once in a full moon to ‘see if she were still breathing’.

I heard her haggard breathing as she stood up for the umpteenth time to go to the bathroom. She walked rather slowly and her breathing could be heard around the entire house. Yet she was a charming human.

She returned a few moments later looking paler than she was just mere moments before. Then she started writing again.

I oath that this is my final words and that any other documents founded written by me before this document is written as untrue.

I hereby also retire as Mother of my children named later in this will. For they did not treat me with the same love and affection I have treated them over their childhood.

Her face seems to deteriorate as she says these words, yet she keeps on writing, knowing far well that her end is nearing.

It wasn’t always like this her behaviour, her way of doing or her love towards anyone. In fact I don’t think the latter has changed that much, just that the sickness have given her some profound courage and determination to speak her mind, or in this case write her mind.

She coughs then wipes her nose with the tissue lying on top of me.

I have grown fond of her, yet not being human makes it impossible for me to comfort her.

This has been my dilemma over the past couple of years living with humans.

She picks up the pen again and sighs.

I know she knows that no one will be happy about this paper, this will as they call it, but I too know that she needs this to be her last words her last call for her own survival.

My will, meaning this document, is true and will not be changed.

She looks upon me then rubs my hard exterior.

She then sighs.

The following will be divided amongst my children once it has been sold:

1.  My clothing

2.  My car

3.  My belongings ( excluding my furniture)

She then stands and walks to the kitchen.

For many years I have travelled amongst humans, but never have I met a human like her who despite her kind soul, would come for what she believes is the truth.

Moment past and I worry when she will return. Would she be able to finish this important document lying on top of me?

She returns with a cup in her hand, her hands clutched around the cup she sits down in the chair. She looks weary and rusted from all the years of working to provide for her children alone. Her husband has died young and therefore she didn’t have the necessary support to study further, yet she scrubbed toilets over the years to provide for her children.

My house will be sold for no less than 1.3 million rand after my death. The money received from the sale of my house will then be given to the SPCA for rescuing of neglected animals.

My furniture will be given to Caroline Margareta Barnard for her help in all she has done for me and will do for me after my death.

She hesitates then she writes again.

My desk given to me by my grandmother will be given to my grandchild Su-Anne Rademeyer. The desk will be stored by Caroline Margareta Barnard until Su-Anne turns 21 years old.

These are my last and only words.

Her hands fall lump down on me then I hear her breathing go up. Everything is quite now. Her last words were indeed her last words.

Another human has passed and it’s time for me to move on , yet this human laying on me feels like it would be my last human ever.

Days past weeks past.

The body on top of me stinks and feels rotten.

Suddenly a knock is heard on the door, it’s quiet again.

Someone barges into my previous owner’s home.

It’s her son.

He sees her laying down not breathing he rushes towards her, then seeing the paper laying underneath her he pulls the paper out from under her.

He shakes his head.

“O mother, you were always so incapable.”

He takes her last words into his hands and tears them up.

I only see the paper FALL next to me.

Weeks passed the house is empty now only I remain.

I wonder how they will dispose of me.

Will I also be forgotten?

Her son and her only daughter comes into the house then picks me up ready to carry me out.

I hesitate and become heavier.

Then I fall.

I fall onto the son’s foot.

He screams.

“You piece of shit furniture.”

Weeks pass and no one has carried me out of the door yet.

My end is also nearing I sense it.

The sky outside is dark; my exterior feels old and rusted. I miss my human. I wish I could have helped her let her last words be her last words and not be torn into pieces.

I feel weary, the end is nearing, the sound of the machine that will be crushing me sounds.

My last words will be: I’m sorry human.

The time is ticking for me I’m weary and rusted.

BOOOFPH