“… Hey ”
The harsh voice shocked the doctor, making him stutter as he was preparing the breathing equipment.
He looked at the stretchers in front of him, eyes widened.
“...Can I smoke here?” The dark-skinned man, laying on the blood-covered sheets, asked, trying to hold a sudden cough that crawled up his throat. Just as suddenly, he supported his own weight on his elbows and tried to sit on the stretcher.
The doctor - almost speechless - shook his head, strongly. Mouth opening and closing just as quickly, not knowing what to reply. His hands went flying to stop the action, pressing the man’s shoulders back to lay down.
“S-sir!” He almost shouted, worry clear on his face. He was shaking, just like the other paramedic taking care of another wounded person on the second ambulance. There’s been an ugly accident on the road, three different cars involved. A lot of people didn’t seem to survive. They were doing their best to try to keep those still conscious, alive. “You have to stay still, try not moving too much!” He advised, professionally. Still much worried and in quite dread of seeing lots of people dying in the same accident. “You could be suffering from head trauma--”
“ Doc .”
The man’s harsh man voice sounded again, uncaring. His eyes were staring at him unamazed, serious, but yet…
The paramedic lost his breath staring back at the man’s eyes.
“... Don’t waste your time. ” He whispered, reaching the inside of his pocket.
The doctor’s breathing was shaken, deep. Fail. He shook his head while telling him that he wasn't wasting time.
That he needed the patient to keep still.
That soon, they were going to reach the hospital.
His words, though, were completely ignored.
“Grant me this wish, will you?” His dark hand handed the Paramedic the packet of cigarettes he was holding together with the golden lighter.
The doctor frowned his eyebrows, looking at the pack filled with thin tobacco rolls on his palm. His eyes met the man’s eyes, yellow ones starting to get slightly red on the edged because of the blood spreading inside him. The man coughed again, smalls drops of that carmine liquid sliding throw the corners of his lips.
That dark-skinned man knew his fate even before the doctor had proper time to diagnose him.
“Com’on…” He mouthed, soundless. Eyes not leaving the paramedic’s ones for one single second.
With shaking fingers, the doctor took one of the cigarettes between two fingers and the dark man smiled. His long dark fingers reached it and took, holding the idem so the doctor would light it for him. With restrained tears inside his eyes, the health professional, shook his head again as his hands moved to light the cigarette up, almost against his own will.
The man thanked him, as he moved the item to his face, holding it, now, between lips as he took a long-desired drag of the smoke.
His eyes closed and he heard the paramedic whimper, both gloved hands pressed firmly against his own mouth as long sad tears ran down his face.
“Don’t…” The dark-skinned man said, between the drag and the exhale.
“I’m sorry …” The doctor whimpered even more while crying, as he watched the man smoke his last cigarette.
They wouldn’t make to the hospital.
“I was never a religious person, and I did a lot of bad things in my life.” The man laughed unhumorously, but honestly thrilled, somehow. “I always thought that I deserved a shitty end.” His other hand waved a bit. The doctor stared at the laid down body over the stretchers, inside the ambulance, and could only pay total attention, shaking his head as if denying that he didn’t deserve any of that. No one really did. “Yet...” The man stopped, took another deep drag of the cigarette and exhaled the smoke before continuing. “You grant me a last wish.” He shrugged, held the half-smoked cigarette between two tired fingers and concluded. “I guess you are the closest thing to an angel that I can get.”
The dark-skinned man’s lips were smiling - while the doctor, once again, shook his head and cried another wave of heavy tears. The man’s hand dropped at his chest, holding the cigarette, and his eyes lose all the hue it naturally had, tainting the remaining white color with vibrant red.
The paramedic took the item between said man’s fingers and stared at it for a second.
It was yet burning. Yet warm.
Yet looking alive.
Unlike the body.
He couldn’t stop himself from thinking that that man’s soul got inside the cigarette somehow - enjoying the rest of it as he could.
The doctor reached the item to his own lips and took a drag on it.
The ambulance siren was going off outside, echoing on the cold empty night, as the paramedic exhaled the smoke out of his lungs - praying for the gods to take that man’s soul to heaven.
It had been barely weeks since he started that job.
He sure knew there was much more to come.
But, yet…
He could already bet… that he would never forget that dark man.
Or his last words.
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N/A: Written in 2019-09-13
https://archiveofourown.org/works/20619485
