...a deathly serenade...

purgatory, of course. The first time we — Yashu
and I — became aware of this was the first night we
all met. After a few hours of drinking we followed
the drunk Leila as we staggered through the dark
London streets, her sensual but dark intense nature
AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA
A was seeping into my world at a rate of knots, I guess
with hindsight, hit me like a bus. Can it be simple?
Of course not, what is usually at play is a desire for
what will harm. Dangerous, Leila ended up in
hospital that first night, after what I deemed a
drunk accident, soon was revealed to be the
physical reality of her prolonged Deathly Serenade.
What if I throw myself into the road, will you love
me then? Yelled the drunk Leila stepping
convulsively into the road, as if a prayer: her arms
to the sky having fallen to her knees. The car hit
her and she rolled towards Yashu and I. Panicked,
the ambulance came and baring a broken rib she
turned out to be physically undisturbed, she even
joked that the rib was given to her from the evil
man so she needn’t desire it anymore. So, it was at
the hospital that we truly came to know Leila, the
long periods of quiet meant that many
conversations were had between us and an unlikely
friendship ensued. We soon came to find out that
Leila had no real affinity for life; the casualness of
her acceptance of pain reaffirmed her poetry, her
elegant screams:
And hedonist thoughts bring tears If you must say?
...as she said nothing, there were no screams or
tears, just a grimace as that vehicle collided with
her fluids and matter, I remember. Though
disparate and beautiful as I thought she was, the
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