Speechless

A man's last moments

1, 2, 3...

Harold stared up at the ceiling, counting the 276 minuscule crevices for the sixth time today. This was all he had left.

22, 23, 24...

Harold has been stricken with a disease that his doctors had never seen before. They couldn't figure out what it was, but one thing was for sure: Harold was dying.

43, 44, 45...

Harold's decline was slow. It started with his feet, as his toes began to tighten up. A year later, his legs would start to lock, and he would fall over at random. By the year after, his breathing had become labored, and his shoulders were stiffening up.

64, 65, 66...

Three years after his toes had started to tingle, Harold's arms were useless. His fingers could wiggle, and he could turn his head. His voice was still crisp, but he was slipping.

85, 86, 87...

Six months, and now his head was locked in place. His booming, preacher-man's voice was eluding him, becoming raspy and soft. Two weeks ago, his voice had left him forever.

106, 107, 108...

Now, Harold was locked in his bed, not by ropes and chains, but by his own body. He was a prisoner, locked in the prison of his own physical being.

124, 125, 126...

The most torturous part? His brain was alive and well. He could feel the frailty of his own breathing, the brittleness of his rib cage expanding and contracting. He could feel his legs and arms, frozen by the years but still sensitive to the touch. He could hear the pulse of his veins, the blood still pumping to long defunct appendages.

142, 143, 144...

Harold's mind was sharp. He could hear the presence of his wife and children by his side, but he couldn't turn and face them. He could only stare at the ceiling, and count the 276 cracks.

160, 161, 162...

Harold had always wondered what these last few moments would feel like. He knew that they would come soon, but now that they were upon him, Harold knew. He began to think about his life; from when he crashed his buddy's car in college and slept with his other pall's sister, to his wedding day with that same girl. From his days in Vietnam, killing the yellow man day in and out, to relaxing in his backyard upon retirement, playing fetch with his yellow lab. From the death of his mother when he was 19, to the birth of his first grandchild when he was 53. Everything, from start to finish, was flooding into his mind.

192, 193, 194...

A tear began to stream from Harold's left eye, and it ran down his cheek. It slowly ran over the lines in his skin, leaving a trail in its wake. At last, the tear settled on the corner of Harold's mouth, and deposited a salty taste on his lips.

211, 212, 213...

Harold was scared now. He felt his breaths shortening, and the air barely getting in and out of his lungs.

229, 230, 231...

Harold had always believed in God, and he had full faith that God would take him in with open arms. Harold kept staring at the ceiling.

247, 248, 249...

It was appropriate that Harold would die counting. As a boy, he would sit by the edge of a pond in the woods and count stones. He would always count the number of eggs in the cartons when he was a stock boy at 15. At 25, he counted how many of the enemy he saw in the field below him before he fired the first round. He would count the minutes and seconds before his children and grandchildren were born. Now, he would count the last things he would see in his entire life.

265, 266, 267...

It was time to go. Harold was ready, and so was The Lord.

272, 273, 274

Harold took one last breath, and held it.

275...

Harold felt a warmth he hadn't felt since he returned from the war, the feeling of being in the only place a human being could ever want to be,

276...

Harold let out his last breath, and looked at the ceiling one last time. His eyes closed, and Harold was gone.

Reviews

[Mary Christabel George]

It was very touching......

[Marie]

I like this. You did make a few mistakes, but I have no problem with the numbers.

[Trigorin]

Check your spelling and grammar. You have a great concept here and the way you've executed it is very polished - one thing I'd say would be that you could cut down on the long strings of numbers and limit it to three numbers per line, with a greater break in between the lines to show that he's counting but without having to enumerate every single number. As it stands it looks a little odd. Other than that, though, this is quite good.

[Will]

I've noticed that I made a few breathe vs. breath mistakes I'll fix now. I wasnt entirely sure whether or not i wanted all the numbers, so I just did it to see how people would respond. You've made up my mind as to fix it... Thanks a lot, and thank you for reading,