just how well do we know pain? how keenly are we attuned to its vibrance?

it’s an unwelcome and unavoidable fact of an aging glutton’s life. you see, last night i was awakened by an intense ache in the belly. yes, right where the spoils of the evening had been producing this byproduct that ripped through my dreams and had me screaming MAMMAAA.

only i was alone, in a room on an island in the deep south. i took some panadol but there was no relief. not with two tabs. not with four. i was dying, alone in this room in a resort that time had forgotten, one that had changed owners more times than moosalhu his worldview or thakuru his well-ironed shirts.

but let me recall the feast for you. it was lavish and spread across an enormous hall. there were salad greens and vinaigarettes. wild mushrooms stuffed with cheese. grilled potatoes with parsley. roast chicken and gravy. the tenderest leg of lamb with rosemary. saffron rice. lemon tarts. strawberry meringues. and three flavours of homemade ice cream.

so i ate with abandon. and why would i not? i’d been travelling all day thanks to maldivian’s reliable delays – maybe an argument for privatisation but i’ll leave that to the experts.

now, i suffer. i don’t feel the urge to empty my bowels nor the need to throw up. and regardless of how i shift myself on the hotel’s decadent mattress, no position offers the slightest relief. fists of pain open and clench beneath my ribs, and when i turn, hellish coals swirl in my gut.

in such agony, the spirit will understandably be subdued. it gives me a glimpse of what life may hold in the end, the very end. alone and wracked by pain. would they matter, those final seconds stretched beyond recognition into a trembling eternity?

would any of it matter?

i don’t know. but i’m feeling it. i feel like it’s finally too much. the happy roads i walked have turned into sullen culs de sac. there’s no beauty here, only rot and decay and pain. so i want to hurry, with my remaining dignity, towards the blinking exit light.

no, there’s no punchline. just gas.