Synopsis
Since
the 1918-1919 influenza that killed over 50 million people, humankind has
feared return of the pandemic, an extraordinarily mutated virus. It’s here. As
before, with the Spanish Flu, mostly healthy young adults are dying, so many
that hospitals can no longer provide for them. Derek Whitfield, 25-year Army
vet, has volunteered for end-of-life hospice care. He sees nothing but darkness
waiting on The Other Side, until he meets Susannah Brite, his
forty-second client.
****
Susannah Brite would be his forty-second client. He had requested only young men, and—until
then—had gotten only young men. He had
thought they would be easier. They
weren’t. Some went out like men of
honor: Stoic and at attention. Most went
out not quite like that. Some even went
out crying. Dying was dying, and nobody
actually knew what waited on The Other Side, if anything. Derek was pretty sure nothing but blackness
waited, but of course he never suggested that to anyone. “Just hold their hand,” he was also
told, “Kiss their forehead, or their cheek, if you want, if you think they
want,” and, most importantly, “Have a soothing voice.”
That all
had seemed easy enough. He hoped this
woman would be that easy, and just one more number to him.
A second excerpt
He took
three steps to her bedside. Her eyes
opened. Her mouth opened, slightly. She licked her lips, once on the upper lip,
once on the lower, but no words came.
Her eyes closed again. “Susannah,
I’m Derek.” He waited, “I’m here to
spend some time with you…, if you would like that….”
Her eyes
opened again. Her left hand raised,
slightly, “Yes, I would,” she said.
Derek barely heard but he knew what she had said. They all said the same thing, and he
always said the same thing. He put his
left hand under her left hand, and felt her grip him with a strength that
surprised him. The strength though, was
short-lived, but the grip itself remained.
Without even thinking about it, he lifted her hand and leaned down, and
pressed her hand against his cheek.
For a few
seconds she gripped his hand tighter again, “Thank you, Derek,” and again
closed her eyes.
Barely
above a whisper but he heard and understood.
He then lowered her hand and placed his other hand, too, over hers. And there he stood, feeling the insides of
his eyes getting a bit wet—that, had never happened before!—and what
strength she still had gripping his hand.
And he felt embarrassed, and a little angry, Why, God? Why are you taking this beautiful young
woman, and all the others? Does Heaven
have a shortage of young people, or something?
Why, God?—for Christ’s sake! Why?
Then he
felt surprised for talking to God. If he
truly believed everything only turned black after death, why on earth would he
talk to God, who he, evidently, didn’t even believe in?
****
Thanks for reading!
Contact
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This short story will be available for free for two days--Yes! Two days, beginning at midnight, August 23, 2012. Regularly $0.99 for digital. As yet no paperback available, but considering a line of single short story books for a reasonable price...?
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