The seventh entry for my 500 words challenge: Michael Snaps. This is more back to basics in comparison to Entry 6: A cubic sunset.
Michael Snaps knows a lot. He knows all bugs known to science. He knows known animals walking our earth and known creatures inhabiting the sea. He knows every cloud structure and what they mean. He knows all the planets known to man. He knows all the stars. He knows the theories shaping space as we know it.
He updates himself daily.
Michael Snaps knows the signs of the town. He knows the addresses by heart. He knows all the cars driving through the city. He knows the owners. He knows all their jobs.
Michael Snaps knows how to tie a tie. He knows where to find a shirt in the store. He knows his size, so he never has to undress in public.
Michael Snaps knows how his bowel movements. He knows how much water to drink to avoid unnecessary pee breaks.
Michael Snaps remembers everything. He remembers the signs of a stroke. He remembered how to call an ambulance. He remembered to show the doctors in. He remembered to offer them a drink and show them the toilet.
Michael Snaps learns new things every day. He learned how to arrange a funeral. He learned about a sadness he never experienced before.
Michael snaps had to learn the heavy words.
Michael Snaps had to learn the sad confirmation.
“I am sorry for your loss.”
There was a lot Michael Snaps never done before. He had never been alone for this long before. He had never made a meal before. He had never bought food before. He had never gone to bed without hearing her soft voice.
“Good night, Michael.”
Michael Snaps did not know how to be without her.