goldenlangur Posted November 15, 2009 Share Posted November 15, 2009 (edited) Time will tell The early autumn dawn is moist with dew and the grass is cold to his shoeless feet. The waning crescent fades in the sunlight and bird trills ring out loud. 'This is what I will miss', he sighs and hunches into the warmth of his fleece. He doesn't need scans or a biopsy to tell him how for months he has felt it grow and spread inside him. He can even imagine how it looks - perhaps with a pale rim but a dark, decaying core. Possibly some dents and scoops like the crater on the moon he once saw on the News. Can something like this be painless? He wonders if the pathologist will smell the dying tissues when she examines the histology specimen. His wife, young and unwilling to see the hollows of his face, insists that technology has advanced and that the specialist is optimistic about his chances of survival. She is still asleep, her head now rolled onto his side of the bed, right arm stretched out, palm open and facing down on his pillow. " I will miss her too," he says softly. What if the treatment doesn't work? The amount the specialist quoted for the initial phase of treatment would swallow up his entire savings. If he died in the middle of the treatment she would have nothing. If he survived, how could they afford more treatments and specialist care? Suddenly he knows what he has to do. In the kitchen he writes her a brief note. Then he punches a number on his mobile. At the station he pays the taxi driver and walks onto the tracks. The Morning Express is on time. Edited November 23, 2009 by goldenlangur Quote goldenlangur Even a single enemy is too many and a thousand friends too few - Bhutanese saying. Link to comment Share on other sites More sharing options...
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