One Last Story

Laying in my deathbed I couldn’t stop thinking about the person that I had once loved the most in this world, and I was angry. I hadn’t thought about her in years. Now memories of her drifted through me like ghosts. I tried to laugh but it came out as a cough. I’m not quite dead yet but I’m in hell.

  I was young and foolish. She was younger and even more foolish. I was the older one and knew better, but I just couldn’t let go. I made excuses.

    An old memory rose to the surface. We had just finished having lunch in a restaurant. She was looking at her phone and I was sketching a figure and making notes.

   She looked over and asked, “Who’s that?”

   I looked up at her. Then I looked at the drawing and notes in my sketchbook.

   “Not sure,” I replied. “I guess that’s what I’m trying to figure out.”

   In the end she was the stronger one and broke it off. It was for the best. I still have the scars to prove it.

    I reached for my glasses, put them on, and looked around my room. A cluttered desk. A television surrounded by shelves of books. A nightstand covered in pens, books, and medicine bottles. Lots of medicine bottles. A remote was perched precariously on a stack of books.

    I grabbed a random book and started reading. I didn’t get far. After a few pages the words stopped registering. I put the book back on the nightstand with a sigh.

    I reached carefully for the remote and turned on the television. I flipped channels until I found something familiar. I lasted longer this time but once again I found myself unable to concentrate. I turned off the television in frustration.

   I coughed again. After taking some medicine I took off my glasses and closed my eyes. Getting this old isn’t fun. I don’t recommend it. I managed to drift off to sleep.

   Suddenly the sun was in my eyes. I blinked and looked around. I was in a park on a bright sunny day. People were walking, people were sitting on the grass, and children were playing. I saw her in the distance. She smiled and waved. Then she turned away and chased after two little boys.

   A bird landed on my shoulder. Its dark little eye was so close. It was like swimming in black ink. It moved its head up and down and I realized it had something in its beak. It looked familiar but I couldn’t make out what it was. I held my hand under its beak. It dropped the object into my hand and I grasped it. It felt familiar. When I opened my hand I could see it. A fountain pen. Suddenly the bird flew away. I closed my eyes at the flutter of its wings.

    When I opened my eyes I was back in my bed. Happy memories rose to the surface pushing down the bitter ones. I put my glasses back on and scanned the books on the nightstand. I knocked one of the stacks out of the way and books tumbled onto the floor. I grabbed a leather hardcover with gold leaf decoration and raised bands on the spine. After fumbling with the metal clasp I managed to open the book. Inside the back cover was an inner pocket. From it I pulled out a sheet of paper and unfolded it. On the paper were notes for an unfinished story. I turned to the front of the book. The pages were blank. I knew I didn’t have much time left. I took a pen from the nightstand and started writing.

Afterword:

No idea if it's any good but enjoyed working on this. It started out as an exercise with a few steps. The first step was to answer a question. The next step was to take the answer and write the opening to a story in thirty seconds. I failed miserably. I was still working on the first two sentences after thirty seconds. I finally came up with something but it took a few minutes. Then the next step was to take the opening, set a timer, and finish a story in thirty minutes. I didn’t think I’d be able to do it but I gave it a shot. I was typing the last sentence just as the timer hit thirty minutes. I did a lot of revising to get to the final version here.

Things I Learned:

I learned that I can write the first draft of short story in thirty minutes! Although it’s short something like this can become the start or the end of something longer. Once I set the timer and started writing the world around me dropped away and I wasn’t over-thinking things. I was just writing. Felt good!

Next: Looking back at the last six months.