Any day now, any day.

It’s going to happen any day now and when it does I’m going to be there, pouncing on him from the shadows, my teeth bared and my claws spread. I’ve been watching him these last weeks like a hawk and, as he’s predicted, all the signs are falling into place. All the signals point to a massive breakdown of his whole psyche, the collapse of his weak, attenuated soul. And when it does I’m going to be there, sleek and poised, my muscles straining. The minutes are falling like knives, this time of waiting is at an end. My instruments are clean and ready to hand – I am ready.

He’s in bad shape. He who was such a tower of strength, I wouldn’t have thought he could sink so low. He now inhabits the house like a revenant, blundering from room to room with no purpose in mind. He can’t sleep, he hasn’t eaten in four days and he bears all the signs of it. A blue, almost translucent hue has entered his skin and the veins of his temples stand out like purple knots. There is an inconceivable tension within him: when he moves I can hear the plexus of his entire nervous system chime like a mis-strung harp. Every ashtray in the house is full and sometimes in the middle of the night I hear him sitting here in the darkness carrying on a monologue with no one but himself. These are bitter times.

And it’s not as if he doesn’t have labour enough to occupy and distract him. Each day new tasks pile up to either side of him and each day he is stricken in disbelief. Each morning I find him transfixed in terror, clutching his hair, marvelling aloud that the world can be so lush with vexations.

Yes, I could do something for him. After all he is closer to me than my own brother. I could extend a helping hand, make speeches of reassurance, bolster his confidence and self esteem but that is not my job. My job now is to bear witness, to idly stand by, to harbour him silently into his ruin.

There is no telling what form it will take or how it will leave him. A gibbering wreck or a blade-wielding psycho, all that is in the gift of the future. There is no past form against which it can be anticipated, he has no previous history of anything like this – he was always so quick to boast of his spiritual health. Consequently I have taken no precautions or protective measures.

Without shame or guilt I assert my moral right. I have been granted salvage rights over him and I will exploit them to the full. I will pick through the rubble and debris and I will single out those pieces which are mine. My instincts will not betray me and it is not in his nature to disappoint: I trust him completely. He only asks that I stay by his side and never leave him alone. He is committed to meeting the calamity head on. I am humbled by his courage.

He is moving again. I must follow.