my third story

This story takes some of the elements from my first story. I think of the first as a draft for this. It wasn't good enough to stand on it's own.



He was dying. He lay in the hospital, slowly watching himself deteriorate. He was waitng to turn from a person into a corpse, an object. A chunk of biological matter without any meaning or significance. Naturally he was a bit bitter. His mother was planning to visit him today. He sighed. Their visits were the most painful parts of his death. Reminders that the only thing he was and would ever be was a pointless tragedy. He sighed again and tried to think of something to do. He decided to start writing his last requests. He wasn't sure what they could be, what he really could ask for after he died. He knew he didn't want his school to have some announcement on his death. Couldn't stand the idea of people being sentimental about him, now that he was devoid of sentiment to almost anything else. The idea of a moment of silence or a sappy obituary in the school paper was repulsive to him. He took his notebook and was about to start writing when there was a soft ding and his mother arrived. She looked far more sick than he did. "Hi sweetie, how are you?" His mother asked him. There was a pause. "I'm dying" he replied in a monotone voice.


"Sweetie don't say that"


"It's true"


"You need to have a good attitude"


"For what reason?"


"Having faith improves your chances-"


"Faith in what? God?" A note of anger began to creep into his voice "Why should God save me huh? What makes me worth it? And what if he does? What right does he have? So many people die in tragic accidents, if I live, God might smite an orphanage in some third world country full of
aids and famine. If he saves me I'll kill myself just to spite the bastard"


Their was a long silence. His mother began to cry. Shame flooded through him. He couldn't do this. He couldn't hurt his mother when he was so close to death. A final impression is even more important that a first one.

"I'm sorry"

"It's ok, your upset, you don't mean it"

They talked about casual, forgetable things for a while, passing time with one another. After a while she reluctantly left to go home. He knew she was afraid she wouldn't see him again. When she had left he took his notebook and wrote "Death is the greatest cause of forgiveness"

Then he lay down to rest for a while.