dying

In The Blink Of An Eye

 

The clock is incessant in its reminder that time is slipping away from me. BANG! Seconds are ticking by. BANG! Each one as jolting as the shots ringing out in the solemnity of that day so long ago. BANG! Yet they don’t stop at 21. BANG! They keep on keeping on. BANG! My blood pressure rises with each one. BANG! My pulse races. BANG! Will my heart burst from chest? BANG!

BANG!

BANG!

BANG!

I hear voices around me, but they are like distant murmurs in the echoes of that clock. I don’t know who they are. I don’t know who has come to say goodbye. In spite of them, I feel so alone in this darkness. My husband waits for me, I’m sure of it. But I’m afraid. This is not a journey I’ve been on before. I don’t know what to expect. I want to join him. But I’m afraid. Was he afraid, too?

Wait, why do I not hear the clock? Where did the murmuring voices go?

“Who are you?” A beautiful being stands before me, wrapping me in light. More specifically, I wonder how it is that I am able to see. I feel the warm touch of a hand to my head.

Time stands still.

“Do not be afraid.”

BANG!

###

Written in response to an excerpt of the lyrics from Santana’s and Everlast’s “Put Your Lights On” (songwriters: ERIK SCHRODY © Warner/Chappell Music, Inc):

There’s an angel, with a hand on my head
She say I’ve got nothing to fear

.

Shared at Flashy Fiction Friday

 

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The Secret Garden


THE SECRET GARDEN

Standing at the window, in the stillness
of the morning, his grief is overshadowed
for perhaps the first time in months.
Smiling, he remembers watching her

when she thought she was alone.
She rummaged through the shed,
flower pots clattered across the floor
while she searched for the right tool.

Her disease had filled her marrow
and tumors had become massive;
yet, determined to finish the task,
she set the bulbs before the first snow.

Now, hands on his hips, he sees
her last burst of energy peeking
through the remaining layer of snow:
crocuses of all colors, her final gift to him.

2012-05-20
P. Wanken

Written for The Sunday Whirl prompt #57:  hips, marrow, crocuses, stillness, massive, secret, flower, grief, window, perhaps, hand, clatter, and colors.