For eight days he sat there without moving, without being able to move, and the hunger and the thirst were fearsome things indeed. He could move his arms and legs a little but no more than that. The straps that held him weren’t strong but they were strong enough. He was wearing a bright blue snow suit that someone had given him in better days. It kept him warm enough but it was too hot anyway.
On the fourth day they moved him. He was dozing just then, not really asleep but too weak to really be conscious. He felt them lift his chair and carry him out of the room. The room they put him in wasn’t any better than the first room, but at least it was dark. Light hurt his eyes, or maybe keeping them open hurt them. It was hard to tell. Keeping them closed made him feel better, and in the dark he had the excuse that he couldn’t see anything anyway.
On the eighth day he felt himself going west down the long road. He wasn’t sorry to go and that ate at him. He felt that he ought to be more broken up about it. Just as he was going the door opened for the first time since they’d put him into the room, and one of them came in and put a bottle under his arm. Whoever it was stroked his cheek tenderly. Eat, it said to him, and grow strong, but of course the straps weren’t strong but they were strong enough.