Things Go Black
The left side of my face is limp and my tongue lay slack in the back of my throat. There is a stale taste of rot in my mouth. Twinges of pain pulse across my body in intervals that seem to be as a song strumming through a melody of agony. I have no intimation as to how long I have lain here, nor do I quite know where here may be. The ceiling fan seems familiar so I might guess a room in my home, perhaps my study. I have been spending more and more of my days here as I have grown in age gaining a more sedentary lifestyle. Hours at a time I casually thumb through the shelves upon shelves of novels I have acquired over the years, all the while sipping on Irish Cream and ice sharpened with a shot of whiskey.
I suppose my body is failing me now. I cannot move or make a sound. Even if I could speak there is no one to call to. I have lived alone since my wife’s passing some thirteen years ago, which I see now as foolish and stubborn but old men tend to be as such. My children visit me on occasion but I don’t expect much more. Elders are tedious to the younger more able bodied.
I can tell my breathing has become more labored now. Perhaps my tongue has slipped further into my throat.
I wonder when the young woman that delivers my supper will arrive. I think her name is Diane. Wait… no that was the one prior. I can’t even remember the names of those who feed me! What good am I to anyone?
The orange tinted rectangle of sunlight on the ceiling tells me that it is evening. Maybe it would be better just to pass here on the floor. Nothing is more demeaning than an old man clutching to life at the expense of his relations. Who has the time to truly care? If I’m lucky I will choke to death on my own tongue. I cannot will it to happen but one can hope.
That young woman has arrived and her face is peering over me. I can see the look of horror in her eyes. I would expect that I have added a bit of excitement into her route of deliveries tonight and what of those who are still waiting eagerly for their meals to come along with the bit of company that arrives with it. How selfish of me. She’s mouthing something but I cannot quite make out what she is trying to say. All I hear is a droning hum much like that of a window unit air conditioner.
She has run off, to phone an ambulance no doubt. Now you’ve done it. Your wishes of not being a bother to anyone sure have backfired on you. You old fool. Dying quietly without a fuss doesn’t seem to be in the cards any longer. Oh that’s right, poker tomorrow; the fellas are going to need to find a fourth player to fill my seat. It shouldn’t be any problem though; we were able to fill Tom’s spot in a matter of days. As one fades another shall take his place. Such is the way of life.
The paramedics have arrived and one has placed his bag beside my head and is running a pen light across my vision. The light is piercing and causes a burning pain that starts in my eyes and surges to the rear of my skull. If I could move, I’d wince and turn my head. But I cannot.
I feel the prick of a needle in my arm followed by a burning sensation. Then things go black.
Thank you for reading and if you enjoyed this story please give some of my other stories a read.
Colin Taisey is a husband, father, and professional firefighter that enjoys writing fiction for fun. The stories tend to be a bit dark and tragic.
