STAY WITH ME

 The man dipped the little plastic dish into the water. That was the first for the day, the one he and his love would drink, hoping it would keep them alive till the next day, or that it would breed an infection inside them and kill them—that was also something to hope for. 

They'd been in the toilet for five days now, weak and almost losing their minds, one; from fear. They'd been trying to hide from those extremists that had invaded the locality five days ago with rocket launchers so common in their hands as if they had a much larger and tougher enemy to destroy than non-conformist humans, also known as infidels. Two; from starvation. As soon as the first shots were fired on Friday night about 400 meters away, the two love birds rose up from their bed, and their arousals swiftly grew limp. They had to act. They had to hide somehow, there was no place for an escape. 

They knew how dangerous and susceptible the area was to those kind of attacks, but they were much more overcome by the very strong desire to capture beautiful fauna with lenses. “Picture over creature”. It didn't exactly fit, but that was what they chanted on their long drive from the airport down to that ridiculously cheap beach cottage they had rented online. Now they wondered if it wasn't the terrorists that leased it out to them. Now they didn't have weapons, and the woman just kept on moaning. 

The man took a tiny first sip from the dish, so tiny that the water surely didn't notice. By now they were supposed to have been found out, but it was probable that the terrorists had vanished. But ever so sporadically did they hear faintly the sound of SMGs and MK 18s. Also, by now, the toothpaste they had been sharing for you-know-what had finished of course. 

The man took a longer sip from the soap dish and gave it to his wife to take hers; a paltry attempt at fighting dehydration. They had had to fetch water from a tap outside every morning and evening before the mayhem. Presently, they had no water in the toilet save for the one in the toilet bowl they'd been drinking. 

His wife's eyes were normally deep set. Now not having eaten for five days exaggerated the extent of suffering she had had to endure. She was indeed very weak, as was he, and took great effort to collect the dish and drink of its content. He watched as she drank with half shut eyes. 

She began to smile slowly and softly. Then she began to laugh—a chuckle at first, then a breath-sapping long laugh. And he stared at her. His heart began thumping in his chest. He knew what was coming on. The effect of the bad water. The pathogens from it had crawled into her brain. It wasn't this one she just drank. It was the effect of the very first sip four days ago when their parched throats couldn't take down saliva anymore because there was nothing to be taken down. He looked at her and he was churned up inside. Largely from despair but also partly from the fluoride—from the toothpaste, in his bowel system. “Stay with me”. He barely let out from his almost lip-less mouth. And in his eyes were the deepest kind of love for his beau, and regret for their foolish error. His heart was breaking. He reached with an arm out to cup her face between his thumb and the other digits. She wasn't seeing him, even though she had quieted down a bit on her ecstasy and was only smiling. 

Stay with me. Stay with me. That was all that was on his mind, and he suddenly knew just about the right thing to do to make that happen. He roused himself to a half-crawling half-dragging position and moved out of the toilet. It must have taken him more than twenty minutes to get to the front door of his rented cottage, but that was all the work that was required of him, as in the next second, another round of bullets were fired. With the lethal one being the shot to his brain, he was sure he had his girl once again. They will become one in death.