Social Themes
It's around three o'clock when I hear the jingle of the bell attached to the door. I am moving boxes in the storeroom. Wiping my hands on my jeans, I walk through the doorway to the front of the store. At first, I think I'm seeing things. A ghost is coming toward the counter. It's running toward me: a skeleton covered in jaundiced skin. Quick and spastic, it has started talking before I realize it's my brother. Still, I can't stop staring at this weird and jerky marionette. There are deep hollows where his cheeks used to be and his arms—dangling from the sleeves of his T-shirt—are freakishly thin. A ripe odor makes me take a step back when he comes up close.
Corrí sin mirar para atrás hasta la tienda, resbalando con los zapatos llenos de grasa, derribando latas de comida, golpeándome contra los estantes. Me lancé hacia el teléfono. Levanté el auricular. Podía sentir a Devin detrás de mí
Empecé a marcar nueve, uno...
Colgó el teléfono de un manotazo.
—Tenía la esperanza de no tener que llegar a este punto.
