Dead Man.

A very short story that I wrote when I felt this overwhelming urge to write.

As the arrow pierced his now broken heart, he began to laugh. His throat coughed up a sick, gurgle of a laugh red with the raw humanity rushing out of his vessel. The man saw not his life, but his death flash before his eyes as the man responsible for this gaping hole in his heart sidled up the road. Gray hat, gray road, gray life, gray dawn. All was gray as Death peered closer, looking for the story that needed a proper ending. The man fell down onto his knees, seeing for the first time something not gray, but ruby red. His life spilling out onto the floor, the memories that he had collected into himself being displayed like a common sideshow act onto the stones misplaced by nature. 

As a boy, he had grown up believing that the world ended at the command of his mother, as all children do. He played in the grass, got into fights, and hurt himself trying to impress girls. Eli and him, his best friend from the age of 8, nearly rolled themselves into a river fighting for a single piece of bread. Neither of them were hungry, they just found themselves competing over nothing. The trivialities of boys that later turn into the world wrecking trivialities of men. Eli had looked over at him at that point, laughing as the toddler-turned-Dead Man tended to a bruise. Eli had won the bread that day, though Dead Man would later win the affections of a girl at the age of 12. Where was Eli now, wondered Dead Man? Why did he not fight over me, like he fought over this bread? This memory he saw as the river of memories spread further, collecting into a sea of red glimmer around him.

Dead Man's eyes peered up into the sky, as his face struggled to keep up with the spinning world around him. He wondered if he would see his father, his fingers running through his hair as he smiled softly, the rough smell of leather as his father worked. He wondered if all these things and more would finally come back to him, as he struggled to find peace in his existence. Why would his father not save him? Why did the world take him so soon? He saw his father's gaze put him to rest as it flowed ever outwards on the sea of blood. His blood.
Dead Man's assailant turned him on his side as he looked through his pocket. Dead Man studied his grim face, wondering about his family, his history, what his own memories would show spilled on the rocks of the rough road slowly receding from vision. He laughed. Dead Man's assailant looked startled as he stuffed his pockets full of the profit of stealing future from another man's pockets. Dead Man continued to laugh, despite himself. Dead Man laughed as the arrow in his heart was ripped out, and the blood ran ever stronger. At last, the sea of red became a sea of gray and Dead Man began to see the world fuzzy before he closed his eyes for one final rest, free of all responsibilities. Death was freeing for Dead Man, though he lazily hoped for the world not to miss him, not to grieve for him as he passed quietly into this hazy twilight.

Dead Man began to dream of his father, and Eli. He began to dream of his mother and her constant worrying, a love unlike any other. Dead Man began to dream of the life that was, and the life that could have been. Death approached him, and he was tired, he left with Death as his assailant left with his future. He said nothing as he died, leaving fitting last words for the situation.

His best friend, the baker, wept.
His wife, known since age 12, wept.
Death himself wept, as he always does, and finished the story with a wipe of a tear from his eye.

Author's Note

Do what you want with it! Rip it to shreds (constructively), I really just want to become a better and better writer so I'm open to anything and everything. (: