Winter, 2014
They said when you die, it's peaceful. Like in the movies, the dying man says touching and memorable words then close their eyes with one dramatic sigh. People who watched those films leave with a sense of hope; a peace of mind that the good guys die valiantly and honorable, the beauty of death is reserved for those who've earned it. What the movies don't tell you is that death is ugly.
Dallas didn't die like in the movies, he dies violently. Choking and wheezing, scratching at his bed sheets until his fingernails snapped. He struggles to hold on to the last minute, the final seconds lengthened. Within minutes, the fight is lost and he collapses on the bed with a sickening death rattle, then it's over. The people that circled him stared with absolute silence, their breaths leaving them in tune with Dallas's final.
The tension was thick it was suffocating; doctors, nurses, even the family members are unsure of what to do next. A woman stepped forward, and placed the sheet on the now deceased man, cloaking the atmosphere with wailing grief. The people cried and howled with sadness, huddling together like a cult. The weather outside was icy with snow and harsh winds, adding to the grieving.
Dallas Winston died two days short of his 65th birthday.