A Short Story Collection

Death Itself

He was old.

With wrinkles running up his face, flabby hands lying near him, and wearing the hospital gown that covered his shriveled body. A tube went through a sunken hole in his throat, allowing him to breathe.

On the bed, he thought of days past. From memories of people, success, and knowledge, into his planted seed, a tiny business, into a great company, where he'd collected his share from the money tree.

He remembered hoping for a day of rest, retirement, where he swam and lay on plastic floats, drinking ice water.

It hadn't happened.

Passed by fast, no more of the life he craved. Soon, death would come at night, while he slept, choking, with his heart leaking blood as he dreamt, and that cold, then the light. As the nurses and priests had said.

After that, he would have to let go of his book of memories, stored in his mind like a buried treasure. Success, knowledge, people, and more. Soon, all useless, as death approached. Then, no heaven, nor hell. Oblivion...

He felt the cold jaws of death; age gnawing away; the world's end. Sometimes, he cried, felt a bit hopeless, wished that he could rip the IV away, run free. But then, he'd turn on the radio, listening to the old ball games that had brought comfort long ago.

He sat near the clock as it ticked, with the hour hand approaching twelve, the minute hand approaching zero.

A slight pressure in his heart, some pain, and he winced. The bell, he reached for, rung, tapped the cold metal.

The nurse opened the door. She carried supplies, took them out of a bag.

Nothing but nurses. Nobody visited him. He had no family, no friends. Only with money, he had succeeded. Now, nobody would remember his name. Even the nurses, with their false grins.

The nurse in front of him nodded. He gave his thanks, making a thin smile. Then, the nurse said his name. In the nurse's eyes, he saw a wistful sort of dream. Things he had once thought of.

Then, the nurse went away.

Perhaps... He'd been wrong

He looked around the room, calmer.

Everything, he saw, but in new detail. Every crack, every tear, every rusty hinge, and the sounds of people, nurses, and beeping. Things he had ignored, too focused upon worries, too focused upon other things. This was his home. This was the room he would finally die in.

A place he would finally enjoy before dying.

A bit of joy flowed through him after he closed his eyes.

Falling into a deep sleep, full of his own dreams, as the old man lay with a small smile.