Gone to Hell-2
I looked around the reception area. There were a few prints on the walls, only one of which I recognised — The Scream. All of them had captions underneath. Two years ago I would’ve needed to be much closer to read them, but now the small print posed no problem. The Triumph of Death, Pieter Bruegel the Elder. Mask Still Life III, Emil Nolde. The Nightmare, Henry Fuseli. The only one I found interesting was The Nightmare. The way the little creature sat on the woman, its butt on her abdomen and feet on her stomach. The frown on its face, as if it were disappointed she wasn’t awake and screaming in terror. How the woman was wearing white and her head had lolled backwards off the edge of the day bed — was it a day bed? — exposing her throat. How the fingers on her left hand were gently touchi
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