Amabat Eam
He stands at the foot of her bed, rememorizing ever feature of her face. She breathes heavy in her sleep—around every three minutes her breathing staggers completely, making him instinctively take a step closer to her. When her lungs become regulated again he steps back.
Through the years she has had numerous chances to express her affection to him but his biggest regret is never being able to find the words to tell he feels the same. And now she’s dying, within days—maybe even hours—vitality will fade away from her eyes and her body will be left alone in this log cabin with only one witness of her passing.
Deep in the woods, and with no neighbors within walking distant, the old cabin is covered in three feet of snow. The clouds parted about an hour ago and the sun has started to shine through the clouds. On any other accords it would be a beautiful December afternoon.
She used to love the snow, but now she may never get to experience it again. She coughs frantically and like before he steps forward. Flakes of blood gargle up from her throat and land on the pillow, staining it brown.
Seeing her like this is too much, it reminds him of all the nights he was hungry and she fed him—when he was sick she took care of him, even bathed him. Now the rolls have reversed and there’s nothing he can do. He could potential try to find help in the village but he wouldn’t dare leave her alone. If she does pass on, he wants to be there with her.
Outside, birds start to sing; Cardinals, jays and robins tweet merrily in the trees, seemingly not minding the subzero temperature.
She coughs again, this time longer than before and more heavily. Hearing her makes him want to cry but he can’t. All he can do is try to cover his ears.
He can remember when they first met, he was just a kid and she was a young adult. He remembers her hair most of all, long flowing red locks that constantly fell in front of her eyes. It seemed like she was constantly brushing them out of her face. As she matured, he guarded her from afar, he often considered himself her guardian angel, but to his dismay she didn’t share his self-gratified opinion. The more protective he became the more distant she became to him. Like one day when she was in grade six, a girl in her class pushed her to the ground, broke her arm and towered over her, when he stepped in and knocked the girl over he was not greeted with the gratitude he was expecting but ignorance.
Now even if she wanted him to protect her, he wouldn’t be able to. She’s not long for this world and all he can do is watch her fade away. The love he feels for her does not fade or whither in the least but each time he closes his eyes it takes longer for him to conjure and image of her and that scares him. After she’s gone will he even be able to remember the contours of her face?
The analog clock slowly destroys his mind, ticking rhythmically and predictably. Each second passing is one less second he has left to stand next to her.
He tried to leave her once; he ran away one summer and built a shelter deep in the woods. She searched for him for three days straight and when she eventually found him her cheeks were red, her generally perfect hair disassembled and tears rolled down her cheeks mixing in with rain drops. He never ran away again after that.
She starts moaning uncomfortably in her sleep and gooseflesh flashes down both her arms. He jumps in the bed next to her to try to calm her but her convulsions are automatic. Looking at her now makes him sick to his stomach. She used to be so lively but now… Now the end is near. It’s the end of a legacy, a chapter in both their lives. Who will take care of him now? Who does he have left to love?
For most of his life he had trouble defining the word love, and when he did eventually come to a fitting description he was never able to say it. How can he ever get over her now when this is his last memory of her?
She’s cold to the touch, in some ways she’s already dead. As her condition worsens the weather outside ironically becomes nicer. The wind slowly dies down, ceasing from creating drifts of snow as it has been for most of the afternoon/
He can feel the bed vibrate as she coughs and it turns his stomach. This is it, there’s nothing left—she’s gone forever. He stays in the bed for several moments after he knows that she’s inevitably dead. He walks into the living room, then the dining room and finally back to the bedroom not completely sure what to do with himself.
He could leave and start a new life or he could stay here and accept that it’s over. He misses her already. Her face dissipates from his mind; the fire in the corner of the bedroom dwindles until it eventually flickers out completely. Left in the cold and dark he walks towards the window and stares out.
He stares out for several moments and eventually comes to the conclusion that he’s going to stay. There’s not enough time left for him to start a new life, he is after all nearly ten years old. His breath fogs up the window and instantly turns to frost. He takes his paw and tries to wipe it off but it’s clearly fixated. He barks, but there’s nobody around to hear him. Not getting a response, he walks back to the foot of her bed and curls up next to it. His nap is somber, with nobody around to wake him.
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