The Hexacoto

Listening to the sound of one hand clapping

Month: July, 2016

The Darkness

(This is post is backdated, written on 23rd July, 2016)

Being one step behind
when chasing the sun
is all that’s needed
to be steeped in darkness
and mired in the shadow of

Those, bright eyed and
fixated on the light,
forget they cast shadows
on those trailing them
who chase the same fire that

Do gleam so pretty,
these are our dreams
with passions that burn
but do give no heat
as we fear dying cold and in ignominy.


<– DAY 2

DAY 4 –>

The Deadline

(This is post is backdated, written on 23rd July, 2016)

“Hi, here’s the article attached in this email as per our deadline. Let me know if you have any questions about the article.” 6.10pm

On the day that Josh died, after he had been carted to the medical examiner’s office, I went into the office.

“If it’s OK, I would like to gather my interview notes and work from home for the next few days. My article is more or less done and I should be able to deliver it on Friday, our original deadline,” I told my editor.

“Are you sure? Do you need more time? It’s OK if you want to extend your deadline,” my editor said.

“I’m OK, it should be fine. I’ll be able to deliver it on time; I’d just like to be able to work from home. I don’t want to hold up production,” I replied.

“If you say so. If you need more time, just let me know,” she said.

“I will. If there’s any inkling that I won’t be able to deliver my article on time I’ll be sure to let you know,” I said.

It was 11am or so on Thursday, and I received an email from my editor. “Just checking, how’s the article coming along?”

“The article’s coming along well. In fact, I should be able to turn it in today by late afternoon or in the evening,” I replied.

I don’t know why I promised to turn in my article one day early, when I was only about a third of the way through writing it. I don’t know what I was trying to achieve.

Fellow journalist friend Aaron invited me to hang out to do work with him. I guess it’s good to get out of the house and actually get work done. The night before I had stayed up from 1am to 4am working on the article and only managed to get my data and graphs done.

“Do you know how you’re going to handle the market report you have due as well,” asked my editor later in the day.

“Well I’m about done with the article, will be submitting it soon, stay tuned! Once I’m done with the article, I’ll start working on the market report. That’s not due until next Tuesday right? Well I’m coming into the office tomorrow, on Friday so I’ll work on the market report then. You know how these go, it doesn’t take me much to turn those out. I could probably turn it in on Monday,” I said.

Why am I promising my editor to turn in my market report one day before deadline again? I don’t know what I was trying to achieve.

“Are you sure?”

“Yeah it’ll be fine.”

“OK see you tomorrow then.”

“See you tomorrow.”

My iced coffee turned warm, Aaron had finished his writing and left for his event. Shit, it was 5pm already, I’m maybe only about 75 percent done with my article. Late afternoon had passed. All that’s left is evening.

I had finished writing at 6pm. Glanced through it for quick edits, attached the file, compose.

I don’t know what I had achieved.


<– DAY 1

DAY 3 –>

The Dishes


(This is post is backdated, written on 23rd July, 2016)

It is 6.30pm and I need to do the dishes to make food. I haven’t eaten all day. I have a lot of groceries that you had left behind that I need to use so they don’t go bad.

Josh, I can’t do the dishes you left behind. The cup with the poppy seeds for your stupid poppy seed tea, I’m sorry for getting mad at you for leaving poppy seeds all over the floor. I’m washing that giant measuring cup you filled with Lactaid because of your lactardness. I don’t know what the fuck was in that bowl that was your last meal you had while alive. I don’t know how to grieve in company. You were the only one I ever cried openly to. I don’t know how to do this. Yes I always noticed when you cleaned the house. Yes I always noticed when you did things for me. I just never said it. I want to be able to call you a cup slut again, when you use up all the cups in the house. I know you went on reddit Singapore to ask them about what to get me for my birthday. I really appreciated it and the gifts you got me, even though you were tight on cash. I just never told you that. I don’t know how to do your dishes, Josh.

It is 9.30pm. The dishes are done. I can finally cook now.


<– DAY 0

DAY 2 –>

I want to hold your hand one last time before it turns cold but I don’t know how.

The Death

(This is post is backdated, written on 23rd July, 2016)


My alarm gargled. Why had I even chose this alarm on my phone? Whatever, I’m awake, but I didn’t want to wake. Waking up to make a living to live is hard. I stay in bed for another 5 minutes.


More gargling. Ok I’m up. I walk down the hallway to the bathroom to shower and get ready for work.

The door was locked. I opened the room to his door, he was not in the room. Well, he’s in the toilet. I could hear snoring sounds. Seriously, why couldn’t he have just slept in his bed like a normal person? But I guess if he were sitting on the toilet till he fell asleep, he must be having some intestinal issues. It’s happened before.

More snoring. I knock loudly on the door. No response, but the snoring continues. I knock even louder; knuckles, palm, heel of hand all rapping the door. I rattle the doorknob. Five minutes must have passed, probably. I am starting to get irritated. “I have a job to get to, you know,” I thought to myself, with a further thought in parentheses (why do thoughts even need parenthesis?) “…unlike you.” More rattling, more rapping — I was an irate rapper.


Then the snoring stopped.

“Josh. JOSH.” I was slapping the door, the door had offended me. Rattlesnakes rattle because they warn that they represent death. I rattled the doorknob and I was murderous. Should I kick the door down? Nah, I don’t want to pay to replace the door. Maybe if I did I’ll have Josh pay for it. But he won’t be able to pay for it. Let’s not do that, let’s not tax his financials.

Do our bathroom doors even have master keys? I peered at the doorknob that has its keyhole cap removed. No, it seems, but I spy with my little eye: a screw. The master key is a screwdriver.

Turning around and into the tool/everything closet, I tried to look for my small flathead screwdriver. Where is it? Josh probably took it and never put it back. For some reason, I suddenly thought about that episode of Family Feud I saw on TV with my friends when we went upstate for a holiday, and the phrase was: “Stop using my _____!” The third most voted answer was “tools.” I finally found a small flathead and unlocked the door from outside.


He was keeled over the bathtub, completely naked. It looked like he had fallen asleep/passed out, leaned over the bathtub. His head laid sideways in the bathtub. There was a small puddle of brown vomit in the bathtub. He can’t be asleep in the bathtub. The vomitus was putrid and a slurry in the bathtub. I need to get him out of the bathtub.

Finger to nose test: indeterminate
Finger to jugular test: no pulse

What do I do now?

/system override: panic; uncertainty;
initiate: forced calm
feedback: grunting heard
processing: state=asleep?
initiate awakening processes
/slap /shake
feedback: no response
initiate emergency systems: CPR memory retrieval
andrenaline booted up, please wait
retrieval results: A-B-C
[commentary: isn’t that outdated? isn’t it like CBABC at this point?]
detecting breath; detecting pulse
= 0; = 0
commencing compression: start cycle 8 counts; check for breathing
feedback: loud wheeze accompanying 4 compressions

override failure: composure broken

What do I do now?

compressions resumed, 8 counts achieved, loud wheeze with each compression


composure regained
status report:
URGENT — pull him out into hallway
URGENT — place him on side
URGENT — call 911
URGENT — email boss that you’ll be delayed

And so I did.


The EMTs arrived.

“What happened?” “Tell me about the person,” “Name? Age?” “How are you related to him?” “Does he have any form of ID?” “Any known drug allergies? Health conditions?”
“No pulse, no breathing.” “Let’s hook him up.” “Asystole.” “You got the drugs?” “Yea I have them ready.” “Can’t do compressions, lungs not inflating.” “Need head elevated.” “Do we have a pillow or something?” [yes] “Intubate him.” “Is that blood in the air pump?” “Seems to be. I don’t think it was intubation puncture.” “Pneumothorax?” “Not sure.” “Still no pulse.” “Time?” “Eight minutes” “Is that all the drugs?” “We still have one more.” “Let’s use it.” “Ready?” “Secured into leg.” “Keep doing compressions.” “How’re we doing?” “No response.” “Time?” “14 minutes.” “We’ll keep going until the doctor says to stop.”

“Sir, it’s been 18 minutes of attempts to resuscitate. We’re in touch with the doctor, but because it’s been 18 minutes”

“He might tell you to cease resuscitation. I understand.”

“Right. You know that the moment he shows any sign of life we would have whipped him to the hospital immediately.”

“I understand.”

“At this stage you might have to prepare for what comes next.”

“That he might be pronounced dead. I understand.”

(Ma’m, we’ve got in touch with the doctor. We’ve told him that we’ve attempted resuscitation for over 20 minutes. He says that we can stop resuscitation now.)

“Sir, I’m sure you’ve heard that. I’m sure you know what this means.”

“I understand. He is dead.”


I understand that he is dead.


DAY 1 –>