The blackbird, herald of death rested lightly on the ledge outside his window but it wasn't there for the death of a patient, not this time, it was there for him. He could barely see the outline of the bird against the dark night sky but he knew it was there, it had been there every night for five years. He had not died, not all of him, he stared as he tried in vain to massage the pain out of his thigh. There was no telling if it was in his head or not, he believed the blackbird knew but he didn't know why.
He stood, leaving his cane behind in his chair, so far so good he thought to himself. He took a step forward and crumbled and pain seared through his body. He pulled the white pills out of his pocket and swallowed one of them dry and tried again; again he failed to take a step. He was determined; he would walk again.
He would never admit it but he was scared. He was scared he would never walk properly again, he was scared of the pills that had gripped onto him and would not let go, he was scared of the pain and he was scared that it wouldn't matter how much determination he had; he would never walk properly again.
He stepped forward. There was pain but he made it, upright, no cane, and no limp. He took another step even more pain but he did not fall. He smiled in spite of himself.
He didn't know why he was thanking the bird that was out on the ledge. It seemed like a stupid thing to do. The thanks were premature. On his third step he crumbled. The pain was too much, he fell, cursing.
He had not failed. He had made it farther than ever. He surveyed the room, his office, he had not gone home. Apparently she hadn't either. He hadn't
noticed her. He cursed again ready to confront her, then he stopped, he saw her tears, he let her be.
She had chosen this profession to help people but the person that she most wanted to help wouldn't take it. He would cure but not be cured. She had wanted to save lives, but she knew deep inside she was called to change his.
He opened the sliding door having retrieved his cane and ventured outside. He closed the door behind him, and screamed, the pain was too great, and the pills weren't helping. He let his emotions be free from where he encased them, just this once, in the black of night where no one, save perhaps the young female doctor, would know.
At the scream the bird took flight. He knew it would come back the next night. It was always there to remind him of death. Whether it would herald his or someone else's, it would always come, it would always remind him.
The sun was rising. He lifted his head from the desk, a new day upon him.
It would come back.
It would remind him.
Night after night.
He would walk right again.
Even if it took his entire life.
He would not...
could not...
Fail