Outside the window, the moon hangs fat and lazy. If such sounds must exist, they should exist outside, where they will not bother the pale woman further.
I make it so and the sounds stop. Stickyred is showering the walls. It is spilling and spraying from the man’s throat just as the food spilled from the little animal's. The man is gargling and trying to pry something from his throat. It is only part of the window.
I hope the pale woman will not get too cold now. Rain is slanting in through the opening and soaking the room. The man's chest has stopped heaving. I can hear all my friends outside again, both the big ones and the small ones, and it is good.
I look to the pale woman. She is sleeping, propped against the wall behind her. Her chest goes up and down at a normal pace, just as be
