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I’ve been awake for the last twelve hours, watching over my silk worms as they spin their silky threads. I’ve flicked them into different colors and let them down again, watched them run freely across my white carpet. They hum to themselves as they work away tirelessly at their weaving, so happy with each other that you can almost hear it in the air. When I opened up my oven this morning to cook an omelette, there was a lone silk worm velcroed tightly on top of it. It took me a few moments to understand that, as the other silk worms continued furiously weaving outside, this one had starved to death on top of my hot stove. I sit here now as the sun rises over the bay, watching the silk rise and fall over my body. I’m wearing a red shirt – actually it was white – but its been dyed – actually bleached – with all the others. All except for this one. Yesterday he was a mass of colour – a flamboyant mane of effervescent colours that glowed from within, but today he’s become something else entirely. The mourners are arriving now, I can hear them coming down the street. The Little Sister is leading the way, she’s one of his favourites. Today, her dress is flowing silkscreen patterns running up and down her arms, trailing out behind her as she walks. She’ll only be able to wear it for another week before changing them again. The Funeral Service will last all day today, because there are so many of them that have come to say goodbye. Twelve hours seems like a long time to sit still in one place for but its hardly anything compared to how long they’ve sat here already, waiting for this moment. A lot of them are here wearing silk, because they wanted to wear the things that were made with him. Others are here in stiff black suits, checking their coifs in the mirror off and on. Everyone is chatting excitedly amongst themselves, trying to find out what’s happening up at the front of the room. Its an old neighbourhood tradition that I’ve never got used to. People have been laying out bodies in the back of their cars for years, but this is new for me. I don’t want to look at them or touch any of them, but it takes all my willpower not to look over at him again. So I do it anyway. We don’t know what happened. He was such a healthy man, he had to be fed every day and he was never sick. He always seemed happy, lying on his silk pillow in the centre of the room. Two days ago, I was feeding him one morning when I heard a loud bang coming from downstairs. I looked over at the silk pillow and he wasn’t there so I went downstairs with my omelette pan to investigate. To my surprise, there was a very dead-looking woman laying on his pillow. There was nothing wrong with her eyes or lips or even her hands though they are all covered in blood now and have been for two days now. cfa1e77820
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