Words of the Weary

This is a side story using the characters from the novel I'm working on, On the Wings of Angels.

She was laying there, like she had been for the last three days. Chest raising slowly, rhythmically, heart monitors beeping. I sighed, and sat down in the seat next to her. Everything about her was familiar, but I looked over the features of her face as if I'd never seen them before, wondering if in all the time that I'd taken her for granted I'd also missed vital parts of her appearance too.

“Savvy.” I said, “are you tired?” I wasn't sure where the question came from, but looking at her now I realized that I was. So deeply exhausted. True, I hadn't slept much since the accident, but it was different than that. I wasn't even the one battling for my life. Suddenly, I felt like I could feel all her pains and her brokenness. It felt so real that the weight of it threatened to press all the breath out of me. After an excruciating moment, it gave way, and I was reduced to a flood of tears.

I Bent over her, kissing her hands, and bringing them to my cheek, filled with new compassion that I couldn't quite claim as my own.

I heard myself saying, “it's okay if you don't want to stay Savannah. We'll understand, we'll be okay, I promise. You don't have to fight this for us. Do what's right for you.”

The words were painful. When I couldn't bare to say anymore I held her as close to me as I could manage, and cried.

Author's Note

honest blunt critiques welcomed