The Death Of Our Friends

Trembling Hands

  The bed creaked as hands trembled, desperately grabbing onto the sides as he tried to pull himself up, his bare arms exposed to the light as his thin figure trembled unable to support his weight. His hairless body a constant reminder of the treatments he received, his latest one reducing him to no more than skin and bones as the cells in his body fought against each other. Each one attempting to suffocate the other as the chemo spread through his veins drowning the cells it came in contact with, be that the cancerous ones or the healthy ones. It didn't matter to it for the "treatment" would take down all it could and that left him weak and frail, sprawling on the hospital floor trying to make it back to bed after a simple trip to the bathroom. Walking was a luxury he could no longer afford and he knew it, but his stubborn attitude refused to admit this fact.

As he continued to grasp at the bars of the bed he heard the click of footsteps against the tiles and the gentle creak of the hospital room door. Grateful someone was there to assist him, a nurse no doubt, he called out to them. "Do you mind helping me?" His voice was weak and trailed off as he tried to force out the words, residing to his fate he left his sentence unfinished as he gave up and collapsed to the floor. A soft laugh startled him as he saw the figure approach, black shoes and pants unlike those of a nurse. That's when he felt cold hands on his shoulders lifting him into the bed. "I'm not here to assist you Charles, I'm here to offer you a choice." The voice startled him as he surveyed his visitor with tired eyes. A black and white jacket in the style of a marching band was the most noticeable thing about him aside from the white hair and sad smile. His eyes lined with black as he pulled up a chair and leaned forward, placing a hand on the bed.

Charles attempted to move away from him but his body wouldn't allow it. Startled he tried to force out the words, "Who are you, what are you doing here and how do you know me?" But voice trembling all he managed was, "Who..." The strangers smile unnerved him as he leaned in closer. "My name was Gerard but who I was means very little. Right now all that matters is the fact that you are dying and you can feel it can't you Charles?" Gerard's smile was soft and quiet as Charles acknowledged the truth in his words. He could feel his strength fading from him his limbs going weak, bones brittle and body frail. He knew he had very little time despite what the doctors told him. Every day it was promises of "he might recover," and "the treatment is working despite it not seeming that way!" He knew there was no it was doing less harm than good all it was was false hope for him and this stranger was there to take it away from him. One who was even stranger himself, "who he was," and what his name "was," we're terms not normally used and this is what concerned him the most. However, he was willing to listen as this man appeared to offer him a way out.

So Charles smiled weakly and nodded with all his strength as the heart monitor blared and he flatlined. Nurses and doctors running past a seemingly empty chair as Charles walked away hand in hand with Gerard. A black and white marching band jacket slung over his shoulders.