Akbar was thirsty. Not in the usual way after a trek across the desert. This was a thirst that was insatiable, that dried his body out from his lips to his legs. He felt his organs drying out, becoming stiff and cracked.
He was leaning into the kitchen sink, cups pushed aside, with the cold tap running right into his mouth but the cold water offered no relief.
He splashed water in his face, leaving his red, bloodshot eyes open in the hope that the water might hydrate them again to no relief.
The pain was intense. He could feel the blood thickening in his veins, the flow slowly coming to a grinding halt.
He tore his shirt off and looked down at his reddening torso, blisters forming and bursting before his eyes. His skin was boiling away from his body and the pain was becoming too much to handle.
He splashed water onto his chest but it simply hissed and steamed, causing more pain.
He rushed across the kitchen, cups falling to the floor as he slid himself across the kitchen counter, grabbing the glass bottle of milk. He poured it into his mouth, some seeping from the cracks of his mouth, bubbling and curdling. He tossed the bottle to the floor, smashing it and sending glass slipping around the kitchen floor.
Akbar rushed through the kitchen and into the living room where, peculiarly, the bust had appeared, despite having been taken to the staircase just a few minutes ago. It was definitely looking at Akbar and telling him in no uncertain terms, to “sod off.”
Akbar’s eyes rolled into the back of his head and he collapsed to the floor.