Alone

I wake up in the hospital to find that I have only a few weeks to live, at most. What a scary thing to wake up to. My body seems to be attacking itself with some disease, but the doctors’ don’t know what it is or how to help. What do I do?

Laying in bed, I realize that I have no one to call. My family is all gone. I am the last in the line. I have no friends.

I knew that this would happen, eventually. They couldn’t help the rest of my family, and they can’t help me. What will I do? Will I lay here in this bed and wait to die? Will I go somewhere else and die peacefully? I don’t know what to do. I can’t help but cry.

They come back. They want me to take more pills, even though taking them probably won’t help. My stomach hurts so bad. I take the pills. When they leave again, I write a note:

Thank you for being here for me, but there is no way that you can help. My family went before me, and now it is my time to go.

I get up and dress slowly. The pain is still there, but it is not so bad now. I walk into the hall and past the nurses station. There is only one person there, and she doesn’t look up.

Down the elevator, out the doors and into the parking lot. I walk north because I know the forest is in that direction. Past the stores and the apartment buildings. It will be a long walk. Still, I move forward past houses, past farms.

Hours later, a man stops and asks me where I am going. “Up north,” I answer. He offers me a ride. We travel for about an hour in silence. “Stop,” I say. When he pulls over, I thank him. He asks me if I need any help. I tell him no, and walk off into the woods.

Half-an-hour later I find an abandoned shack. The roof isn’t all there, and the windows are broken. No matter. I go inside. There is a small table with two chairs. I take off my jacket and wipe the dust off the table and one of the chairs. I sit down, taking a pack of cigarettes from my shirt pocket. I light the cigarette and sit looking out the broken window, thinking.

This is not a bad place. If I were going to be alive a few more years, I’d fix the place up some. Won’t be though, so why bother. I put the cigarette out on the floor and walk over to the bed. It is dusty, so I take the pillow and top blanket off and put them onto the floor. I lay down.

I cough. There is blood. I won’t make it a few more weeks. I may not even make it through the night. My eyes are so heavy. I sleep.

Next morning I wake. I’m still alive, but unable to move. My bladder is full, and I wet my pants. Oh, well. I’m leaving this life, so it doesn’t matter. Sleep comes again.

I wake again, later that day. I can’t seem to stop coughing and there is so much blood. I am scared. This is it, the end. Relief sets in, no more loneliness. Thank God.

Sleep comes again, forever.