Grotesque

I just saw a woman, bound to her wheelchair for decades it seemed. Her skin wrinkled and baggy as if there was once more of her; sometime in the last decade or so she must have been shrunk to about 70 percent of her original size. It was Grotesque.

As the woman sat there-- and I did not see her for more than a few seconds, thirty at the most -- she shook in the manner of a dead fish, or maybe Jello brand gelatin Jigglers. I realized finally, with some degree of disgust and that distinct taste of bile in the back of my throat from impending vomit, that she was trying to eat. These Grotesque contortions of face and limbs were the outward symptoms of a body refusing to feed itself, to perform the basic functions necessary to sustain existence. The face of such a creature I will never forget. Snarling at a Chick-fil-a chicken sandwich.

Grotesque, only a word, but a word none-the-less. Grotesque, the physical symptoms, visible, audible, OH GOD WHAT NOISES IT MAKES!!! Somewhere under the Grotesque I saw the living envy the dead, like diamonds, for the dead need not to eat. A corpse no longer has a need to snarl at the daily Chick-fil-a chicken sandwich. OH THE GNASHING OF TEETH!!!

It was as if this woman had such a pain-- burning at the base of her tongue -- that the body had rejected it. And with skin wilted, tongue flailing-- trying desperately to escape -- electric legs to carry her through life. Shaking in that dead fish / jello manner and gnashing her teeth she continues on until the doctors decide she's had enough.