almost || h.s

October 2 1963

[note: this is not the end]

October 2, 1963

There was no simple good morning anymore. It was all a fact of the past. His groans were the only thing that gave me hope. He would lie awake all night, tossing and turning. The sheets becoming entangled in his large mass of a body.

His once strong figure was now blended in with the pale bedsheets, thin and inanimate. All I could do was lay with him, knowing that every second passing by was one step closer to the end.

I would constantly attempt to give him food but he would bat my hand away, causing me to rush to the the kitchen to dispose of it. And I found myself running towards Harry and comforting him, repeating words of encouragement, mostly to myself.

My bones were rigid and weak, the lack of sleep was inching towards my head, devouring my only sense of seeing. But I resisted the urge to let my head fall against the feathery pillow. I need to be with him. I need to make sure that we will get through this.

I need him.

Seconds turned to minutes then to hours. It was now 8:23 pm. And as the clock strikes the odd number, Harry erupted in coughs. I tried my best to comfort him, telling him to just breathe. But the coughing continued. I tried my best to make him sit upright but his lack of strength brought me to encouraging him once again. He wasn't going down without a fight; not on my watch.

And then it stopped.

The coughing, the breathing, the life.

I turned to him, unsure of why he would just stop like that. Panic reaching my brain and realization pumping through my veins.

"Harry?"

No answer.

"Harry? Answer me!"

"God dammit! Answer me!"

I screamed and screamed and screamed.

"This isn't the way he dies."

"He's just messing with me."

I told myself over and over again, trying to find a consolation somewhere inside of me.

I ran to his side of the bed, feeling his neck for a pulse but it rang empty. No breathing was heard. His heart had stopped.

All too quickly.

I fell onto his chest, strangled sobs erupting from somewhere deep inside of me, soaking his lifeless chest with my warm tears.

"He's not gone." I repeated over and over again, trying to convince myself that this all was just a dream. That he was still laying beside me, happily breathing and engulfing me with his warmth.

But the man laying in front of me proved otherwise.

And that's when I decided to be strong and rush to the hallways, screaming for someone's help. But the calls fell short. I ran to the streets, finding anyone that could be of any use to me. I just needed someone to tell me he was going to make it. Some glimmer of hope; anything really.

"Please. Please! He's dead." I screamed, grabbing onto people walking passed me on the narrow sidewalk. My nightgown flowing in the chilling wind and my bare feet nearing frostbite.

"Lead the way." A man grabbed me by the arm forcefully. I had no time to ask him who he was, it just happened. And I lead the way, thankful for some offer of help.