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He lay in his bed, rotting yet still breathing. The stench of him assaulted her nose, but Asuncion continued to push her broom across the floor. She always made quick work of this room. A bit of dust under the bed, a grimy chair. No one would notice. Certainly, he would not, because he couldn't leave the bed.
What does he know? she wondered. He could not speak. He could not even turn around without help. And yet, sometimes, she caught his eyes following her as she maneuvered the broom, or wiped a door handle.
What do you see? she was tempted to ask him. Is there anyone in there?
She forced the thought from her head. Not her business. She was a cleaner. Invisible, as he was. Insignificant, as he was.
Today he watched, or did he? Those eyes. Maybe it was an illusion, the way it seemed sometimes eyes in a picture followed her.
She worked even faster, so she could leave, get away from those eyes and that stench.
It was the end of the night shift. The sun was bright as she fumbled with the keys to unlock her Ford Pinto. The cloth seats welcomed her aching back. She was proud of the way she maintained this car. Few people would believe how pristine the interior of a vintage car could be.
Traffic on the road was going in the opposite direction. They were heading to work. She was going home. With every passing moment, every mile, she put the idea of the hospital out of her mind.
The lane narrowed. Trees overhead cast a comforting shade. Her small apartment complex was in the shadows, barely visible from the road. Private. She came and went usually without seeing anyone. Her reserved spot was never taken. There was no trash around the building. Which is why she noticed a red something moving near the forest that abutted the parking lot.
A fox. Sick. No, not sick. Injured, its leg jutting at an odd angle, its breath labored. Asuncion stepped closer and the fox struggled to its feet, dragging the useless leg. The animal was seeking cover in the trees.
Foxes carry rabies she thought, as she kept her distance. Still, she followed. The animal managed to go several yards into the woods and then finally collapsed. Asuncion knew she could safely take a closer look.
Why did she? She was tired, craved breakfast, her lounge chair, the morning paper. But there was the fox, its chest rising and falling rapidly as it fought to live.
She was near now. Its eyes were open wide. They stared up at her. She moved around to try and assess whether she could safely help the animal. As she did, the eyes followed. Those eyes. What did the fox understand? What did it know? Despite its anguish, the animal did not make a sound.
She was riveted to the spot. Could not avert her gaze. She had seen people die. She knew what was coming. And then she saw it happen.
What was the difference between life and death? There it was, in the fox's eyes. One minute here. One minute gone.
Why was she weeping? Sobs overwhelmed her. Her body shook. Tears streamed. She looked at those lifeless eyes and felt a bottomless sorrow.
Slowly she collected branches and brush from the forest floor. She began to blanket the animal, gently, solemnly. Eventually she had the fox covered so that its small grave was indistinguishable from the other debris that time had allowed to accumulate under the trees.
Her tears stopped flowing as she performed the burial ritual. When she finally turned to leave, there was a sense of peace. Though she couldn't save the fox she had done the only thing in her power: she cared, and showed respect.
Author's Note
This story has been percolating in my head for a couple of weeks, ever since the prompt Shadow was offered. Finally last night I sat down to write, two weeks late :)
The fox image is borrowed from @redheadpei on #LIL, the LMAC Image Library on Hive. The library is a repository of public domain images.