7 MINUTES LEFT
A short story about a man on his deathbed
I’m on my deathbed, waiting for my last breath. Alone. This is the life I chose, the life I lived. The pills take about 7 minutes to work. What will happen after this? The afterlife or just nothing? It doesn’t matter to me. All that matters is today.
This old house, with its wooden walls, floors, and antique furniture, will wither away like I did. One day, it will turn to dust and scatter in the universe, but not today. Today is my day.
Did I live a happy life? I think so. I tried to, just like the birds, the wind, and the waves I heard in this house. I loved my youth, moving from place to place, always finding somewhere new to settle. I never needed relationships; they were a burden. I preferred freedom and solitude. I shared only laughs and happy moments, all the bad things I did and all the heart I broke are out of the equation. Some might call it delusional, but I don’t care. This is the life I want people to remember — full of joy, without sorrows.
I stare at the ceiling, hearing the water drip from the bathroom. The ticking sound calms me. It has a rhythm, like a metronome. I feel isolated; the waves, wind, and birds’ songs are gone. Only the water and my heartbeat remain. I guess the pills are working.
I feel dizzy, and my vision blurs. Everything is going as planned. My feet are cold. I’m not sure if it’s the leak or the pills. My head sweats, and my hands shake. Deep breath; everything is fine. The sounds are gone. I feel more isolated and start to get scared. My eyes are almost black. I need to calm down.
My head spins wildly. Everything is numb and deafening, yet my heart pounds, and my lungs fight for air. Stay calm. This is what I wanted, right? All the questions I thought I answered flood back. “Did I live a happy life?” The answer was clear, but now it’s blank. My mind shifts: “Did I live the life I wanted?” Confusion hits. I can’t answer. My head spins faster. My heartbeat slows. My body turns to stone. I’m still here. The question echoes relentlessly. I’m losing it. Consciousness slips away. Life slips away. The question pounds louder, and I don’t know. I don’t know. I don’t know. I don’t know. I don’t know. I don —
