It’s Not Too Late For You

Today’s random word is throe.

Hugo Simberg’s The Garden of Death, from Wikimedia Commons

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This Drabble continues the first story linked at the end.

But if I was being honest, I was just afraid.

To live.

Until two weeks ago.

David had been my doctor for thirty years.

He put his hand on my shoulder when he came into the room.

Six months, give or take.

At home, in my chair, silence, a sudden feeling of anguish.

Elizabeth would call it a throe.

Is she still alive?

It’s funny.

Now that my time is almost up, my fears have evaporated.

That tree, just outside my window, is so green.

Look at the veins on that leaf.

And that beetle with the copper-brown wing.

Thanks to Poet In The Arctic for laying the groundwork.

What Are You Hiding?

Michael John Scott has an intriguing finish to this story.

What I Am Hiding

Here are more stories by me.

Paul Gardner - Medium