Sorry if it sucks, the word crash somehow looks like Wrigley today.
Plus, I'm really depressed that one of my favorite authors is gone.
You sit next to him in the hospital room.
His breathing is shallow, faint puffs of air, as if to signify the end is near.
You reach out to hold his hand.
Cold.
You stare at the heart monitor and watch as it goes flat.
Behind you, your world starts crashing down.
One step out of the room and everybody swarms you.
Their faces are questioning, you can see the bags under their eyes from no sleep.
You shake your head, and it's as if time has stopped.
A collective gasp.
You bolt out of the hospital.
His funeral is small, only his closest friends are there.
Everyone's crying, but you.
You know he'd want you to smile.
You tell your friends that you want to be alone, and they leave.
It's just you and him.
You let go of the balloon, and watch it rise.
You crane your neck to stare at it, watching it fade, hoping it will carry his soul to heaven.
~Death's Servant