Short Short Thinger

it hurt them more than it hurt me, so of course i would put a brave face on it and lie to their eyes as i told them i was feeling healthier and would see them in the morning. they couldn’t understand that i wanted to die.

i was worn out, dying is a rough business and all i wanted was some sleep. permanently. they were being strong and lying to me with the same brave face, telling me i looked better and that they’d see me in the morning. apparently they thought i needed it.

i’m pretty sure they wouldn’t have been able to comprehend that i was no longer suffering. the pain had long ago leached all physical sensation from my body. i was already in the other world, just tied to the body. when we are dying we are truly ghosts.

anyway, i let them tell themselves that they’d done their part and i watched them leave, pulling their doubt of my survival through the night on with their coats. i didn’t quite know what i looked like anymore, but the blanching faces of my family each time they came to visit let me know it never got better. oh well, that hadn’t been my concern for quite some time.

i don’t worry if they’ll be alright once i’m gone. its not that i don’t care, more like there is no point in worrying because i’m going to die anyway.

still, once they all left, it was much easier. if i died in front of them i would have had to have put on a good show, death rattle and all. i didn’t want to disappoint, besides every night they were expecting that phone call. i didn’t notify anyone of my intentions, the release date was not public, just a private showing for my friend the bed pan. only one box office return for me, six feet down. so i closed my eyes.