The Last Minute

A man struggles with his last moments, and it's only when he lets go that all life can be lived again.

Last minute breath. What do you have to say for yourself? Last words. No drama, ok? Just be real. Don’t romanticize it. Think of it as a transition, from one place to another. The man reaches for his wallet, a cute photo of his daughter comes to hand. He cries. “Been long baby”. Time stretches as he remembers and commemorates life. “So I saw you, and it was it, I was in love”. Mistaken by the crazy amount of pain suffering, thought to outlive them all, attached to his own physical body. Wipes the tears off. “Is it you again death?”. Tough son of a b***h. Why don’t you just quit? Said the mysterious figure. It was his wife in the blinding light of the room. “Apologize! Your daughter can’t stop crying”. “Well, she comes for us all, just not when we want it”, said he. “What are you talking about?”. “The inconsolable being who in its visit says goodbye instead of hello”. “Everyone must say goodbye”, she pleaded. “Not my daughter, leave her out of this”. She left. It was only when he felt the ache in his body that the light switched off. More pain. What is life about if not about pain? Leave it out and you have cowardice, but this pain is nothing for him, it’s just a sign that the end approximates. The muscle stops. One more body left to burn. Is it all we have? The lasting instant we guard in our hearts, of love and passion. She was frightened for him, but he let go. Like a bull who fights back till the end. Impaled. Solitude, fear, embrace the pain and you have freedom. He wasn’t free for a long time. Why not death? Why not suffering? Why is it that all of a sudden it has to be easy? They’re a knock in the door. “LIVE!! LIVE!!”. Most people don’t, afraid of being caught on the curve. “Do you have a word to say?”. No, said the nurse in the room. “He was blinded all the time”, commented the other. Is life important? Only to us mortals, but not for any life else. Enduring hard times is to be appreciative of every moment we are here, they thought. But this man took it to the limit, he broke barriers, he was afraid. Who isn’t? Is it better to die than to feel god’s anger? They all felted in the room. The scent spreaded, it was the spirit lifting up. There is no god. We transcend to nothing. So there he was. In the end all men are futile and their fight with destiny is to live a little longer for love and for hate. His eyes were wide open but his soul was long gone.