pieced together.
He had never expected that it would end this way. Mauled to death, shot by a crazed fan, drowned at sea on a sailing expedition – something adventurous, something wild. Not like this. Never like this. Sometimes, in his more romantic moments, he had fantasized that this moment never came it all. That he was some godly, superhuman being. Immortal even. Yet here he was - weak, less than a man. All comprised of tubes and needles held together with skin thinner than paper. He tried to grasp at how it had come to this but it was all gone, there was not one part of his mind present at all. He tried to move and found that he was everywhere, although he realised that he was going nowhere at all. He was the shaft of light that broke through the curtains, he was the head of the needle that lay by his bedside, he was a thread of the sheets that covered his body. He was everything there was to be. Everything, that is, but himself.
He had ceased to be to be so several minutes earlier. There had been the rush of feet on the linoleum floor and the soft, rushed murmur of several voices – the quietly suppressed panic of a trained professional. There was the sound of pages being turned, charts being checked and the cool pressure of hands at his neck, his wrists, his heart. Machines had whirred and hummed and tried their very hardest, but it was not quite enough. It never ever seemed to be enough. Not when it mattered anyway.
Then it was still. Something hung in the air - an emptiness, a dead feeling – thick enough to be cut by a knife. There had been a jolt deep inside him and then nothing, nothing at all. He found himself sitting in the corner of the room, watching as people rushed around him, as their eyes grew wider and condensation formed on their brows. He watched himself with a blameless curiosity, head tilted to the side. He watched until the whirring and humming had stopped and all of the machines flat-lined, the pressure of hands disappeared and feet scuffed the floor. A cough, an unsteady sigh and then the hollow confirmation that ‘yes’, it really was too late. The sheets were drawn up over his face and then he was gone.
Eventually, he found that he could hold himself together no longer. He felt his body separating, his limbs tearing apart, falling away. His fingers were unfurling, his teeth unclenching, his muscles unknotting – like being born again, like a fresh start. He was a part of the wind, of the ground, of the very Earth itself. He closed his eyes and felt himself at last. Perfect, whole, new. He closed his eyes and breathed deep. Here he was. Less than a man, but greater than anything that had ever been before. Everything would be all right.
“she was discovering once again that reading and writing were not the same - you couldn’t just soak it up then squeeze it out again.” - David Nicholls, One Day
Humphrey
It was almost sundown, which meant that it was almost bedtime for him. The last rays of sun for the day made their way through his window. They warmed his cheeks and coaxed his eyes shut. He was sleepy. Years ago, quite by accident, he had fallen into the habit of rising and sinking with the sun. He was wrinkly and grey-haired now, he supposed. That was just the sort of thing that wrinkly, grey-haired people did. Blearily he acknowledged that the clock on the mantelpiece read six o’clock. He waited until it had finished chiming until he rose, wincing as the blood rushed back into his stiff limbs.
The Needle Head
He had never expected that it would end this way. Mauled to death, shot by a crazed fan, drowned at sea on a sailing expedition – something adventurous, something wild. Not like this. Never like this. Sometimes, in his more romantic moments, he had fantasized that this moment never came it all. That he was some godly, superhuman being. Immortal even. Yet here he was - weak, less than a man. All comprised of tubes and needles held together with skin thinner than paper. He tried to grasp at how it had come to this but it was all gone, there was not one part of his mind present at all. He tried to move and found that he was everywhere, although he realised that he was going nowhere at all. He was the shaft of light that broke through the curtains, he was the head of the needle that lay by his bedside, he was a thread of the sheets that covered his body. He was everything there was to be. Everything, that is, but himself.
He had ceased to be to be so several minutes earlier. There had been the rush of feet on the linoleum floor and the soft, rushed murmur of several voices – the quietly suppressed panic of a trained professional. There was the sound of pages being turned, charts being checked and the cool pressure of hands at his neck, his wrists, his heart. Machines had whirred and hummed and tried their very hardest, but it was not quite enough. It never ever seemed to be enough. Not when it mattered anyway.
Then it was still. Something hung in the air - an emptiness, a dead feeling – thick enough to be cut by a knife. There had been a jolt deep inside him and then nothing, nothing at all. He found himself sitting in the corner of the room, watching as people rushed around him, as their eyes grew wider and condensation formed on their brows. He watched himself with a blameless curiosity, head tilted to the side. He watched until the whirring and humming had stopped and all of the machines flat-lined, the pressure of hands disappeared and feet scuffed the floor. A cough, an unsteady sigh and then the hollow confirmation that ‘yes’, it really was too late. The sheets were drawn up over his face and then he was gone.
Eventually, he found that he could hold himself together no longer. He felt his body separating, his limbs tearing apart, falling away. His fingers were unfurling, his teeth unclenching, his muscles unknotting – like being born again, like a fresh start. He was a part of the wind, of the ground, of the very Earth itself. He closed his eyes and felt himself at last. Perfect, whole, new. He closed his eyes and breathed deep. Here he was. Less than a man, but greater than anything that had ever been before. Everything would be all right.
