Gone

A woman is in the hospital with her dying husband. I tried to make it as detailed as possible.

My eyes open slowly and groggily to be met by an all too familiar sight. The sterilized white hospital walls are almost blinding to my sleepy eyes, and I squint them to adjust for a few moments. My back is curled painfully against the wooden frame of the hospital chair I fell asleep in. The scratchy deep blue of the fabric is the only color to be seen in this sea of white, except for the small bouquet of flowers set next to the bed. I brought them in a few days earlier, hoping to bring a little happiness into the pale boring room. They are on the verge of death now, and their pale pink petals are beginning to wither and brown slightly at the edges from dehydration. The green leaves are curling and crinkle slightly under my trembling fingertips, falling into a pile of crumbs on the table.

Beside me, there is a small moan. So slight it barely registers, but it makes its way to my ears through the stagnant air of the hospital room. My head turns to the man in the bed, and I make my way to stand beside it. Then I move my creaking joints slowly, so I can sit next to my dying husband. 

His pale and thin body seems to melt into the stark white sheets, framing him. The thin strands of grey hair that he has left, stick to the side of his head, greasy and unkempt. It shines under the fluorescent lighting. A breathing tube descends into his throat, and is breathing for him. He is too weak to even take simple breaths. His eyes are sunk deeply into his small skull, and the pale blues of his eyes are almost invisible. They are glassy and watery, half closed as if he is only one breath away from leaving this world. As if when he shuts his eyes, he will be gone. Nothing but a memory. The veins line his neck, and the wrinkles in his pale skin are wafer thin, making him look sickly. Of course, he is.

Slowly, I lean over my husband. His eyes are open, but they do not even register that I am here. He doesn’t even recognize me. I bend over and kiss him lightly on the forehead. Nothing. Not a movement of any kind. When I am this close I can smell the antiseptics they scrub him with each morning. I try not to gag. Suddenly, his monitor starts to beep. Faster and faster, and my husband begins to twitch violently. Nurses and doctors rush into the room, yelling to each other and grabbing my husband. My ears are blocking out all sound, and my vision has been reduced to a small tunnel. The sea of doctors forces me out the door and into the hall. The one sound I can hear is the beeping of his heart rate monitor. Beeping quickly, and then it just stops. My husband is gone, but he has been for a while now. He has been gone since the first morning he woke up and had no idea who I was.

Author's Note

What do you think?

Reviews

[D Muller]

I liked it, and I think you could have told more. The first three paragraphs were so descriptive, but the last one not so much. If you added more detail into the last one, or even split it to make another paragraph, I think it would have been very cool.

[Coyote Poetry]

A very powerful short story. You brought me in and held my attention till the sad ending. I like her logic. She knew she was alone when his mind was lost. Thank you for sharing the excellent story.
Coyote

[Scorpio]

Interesting story, perhaps needs a little work in terms of making your writing flow. For example, I thought if you had used 'had fallen asleep in' instead of 'fell asleep in' and written 'the small bouquet of aging flowers on his bedside table' in the first paragraph it would have been easier to read.

Maybe think about tinkering with your writing a little here to try and perfect it. Otherwise its a good effort.

[ZeniaK]

Wonderful short story packed with a lot of emotion. Great work!

[Weeping Angel]

THIS IS ALSO IN MY CONTEST! How do you write so well? It's not even funny.