Tamaa mbele, mauti nyuma.
Desire first, death afterwards.
The African dawn was about an hour away and Eames was slowly rattling along in a jeep towards Lake Elementaita and its surrounding mountains. He didn't have much time. He was clinging to every second.
He couldn't remember if driving a car using only one hand was supposed to be this difficult. But then he could hardly recall anything before the moment that was leading him to his destruction.
He knew been pursued out of Nairobi by three unidentifiable predators and at some point had made the choice to head up into the remote Rift Valley. Eventually, they had driven him off the road. There had been a vicious but quick struggle. He had been outnumbered and unarmed but had managed to overcome two of them. It was only when he turned to take on his final pursuer that the air cracked and his side split open. Through his haze of pain, he had somehow hauled himself the shooter and smashed his fist into the side of their head. With tears sloshing in his eyes, he had watched the man drop to the floor, knowing he too far way to head back to Naivasha and he would never make it to Nakuru. Wheezing, he had looked across the plains spotted Lake Elementaita shimmering in the moonlight and decided that if he was going to die, he wasn't going to do it by the roadside.
He finally reached the banks of the wide lake and he stopped the car. If he could, he would have sighed with relief but each raspy breath was precious and painful.
Eames glanced in the rear view mirror. No one was chasing him. No one was coming to save him.
For the first time he looked down to his left hand that was pressed against the left side of his ribcage. Blood had bloomed all over his shirt. It was soaked and dry and stiff with it. The stench of copper was overwhelming.
Gritting his teeth, he pulled himself out of the car. He let out a long groan. Beads of sweat dribbled down his face. He grabbed the portable satellite phone and stumbled away. His head was spinning with every step he took. His bluish skin was tight and tingling.
He felt so incredibly weak but he had one last task to do. It was this final desire that was giving him strength and he clung to it like a nugget of gold.
Grunting in pain, he blundered his way to the very edge of the lake and he became still. His lips were trembling as he absorbed the spectacular sight before him.
Everything was so luminous, so languid. The full moon was glowing softly just above the great hulk of green mountains. The sky was entering its phase of lavender and leaving the navy blue behind. A gentle breeze was playing with the silver grass that fringed the glassy lake. The water was so still that he could see the morning stars reflected in its surface. He could hear the low hum of wildlife. It was just him and the world slowly waking up.
His legs gave way and he plummeted to the ground. Agony caused stars to explode in front of his eyes.
Well done, Eames.
He started spitting and gasping for breath but was nearly sick when he felt the air being sucked in by the hole in his side. Blood tumbled out of him like black dye. He slipped his hand back over the flowing wound. He slowly dragged himself over to some large, mossy rocks and settled himself as comfortably as he could.
He made his eyes focus on the phone. Breathing fast and hard, his trembling, blue fingers pressed the numbers slowly, as if they were relishing each sensation of touch.
As he waited for the phone to be connected, Eames steadied himself. He was lost in the serenity of his surroundings and when the dialling tone stopped, he beamed. He could have his last wish.
"Hello there, darling"
"Eames?" The sound of his own name being said in Arthur's tired voice made him warm. The image of the younger man floated into his mind. He thought about Arthur's rich brown eyes with their flecks of gold and how his thick, dark hair would almost certainly be slicked back.
"Course it is."
"What do you want? It's late and I am about to go to sleep."
"I wanted to talk to you. So, how's your day been?"
"Eames, you're slurring. As much as I enjoy our conversations when you are drunk-."
Eames let out a croaky laugh as tears made his eyelids swell. "I'm not drunk. I just…" He looked at the glistening moon snagged up in the purple sky. "I wanted to tell you that I've never felt just remotely the same for anyone when it comes to you."
"Right. Thank you."
He laughed again and pain detonated in his chest. For a moment, his world was an array of pulsing pink, blue, green and yellow flashing lights.
"Eames?"
"Yeah, darling?"
"Maybe we could get a drink when you come back. Just you and me."
It was too much. Eames keeled over on to his side. Hot tears streamed down his face. For the first time, he felt the cold hand of fear grip around his pounding heart.
What Arthur said pained him more that his mortal wound. This pain was smothering him, this pain was his body accepting that it would not survive, that his heart that was thrashing so wildly would soon stop, that its beats were numbered.
He became aware of his name being shouted in tinny crackle.
Eames swallowed hard, struggling to control the flood of emotions that rose to his throat. He managed to push himself up and brought the phone back to his ear.
"I'd love that," Eames said thickly. "Very much. But there might be a small problem there."
"Why?"
There was a small beat of silence.
"I'm hurt, love."
Another pause, then Arthur's voice filled his ears, asking him questions he didn't have the time to answer. Cold rippled over him. His eyelids were becoming so heavy. His breathing was so shallow, his chest was almost motionless.
The final grains of his life were slipping away.
"You know, Arthur," he croaked, "there is no such thing as death in Kenyan folklore." He panted as more pain flushed itself through his body. He was struggling now. Pushing down his tears, he continued. "They say the children are missing and when an adult…He's sleeping… He's just sleeping."
"What can I do?"
"Say 'Goodnight,'" he said softly and he heard a sharp outburst of tears. Eames couldn't summon the energy to comfort him, so he waited for Arthur to collect himself.
"Goodnight, Eames."
"Goodnight, Arthur."
Eames ended the call. He smiled. He was done.
He removed his sticky hand away from his side and he spluttered, scarlet spattering the earth in front of him.
He glinted at his gold wristwatch that was stained with his blood. He weakly unwrapped it from his wrist and using all his remaining strength he pulled out the crown. The hands froze. He laid it out on the ground and lethargically reached into his shirt pocket, pulling out his poker chip and placed it next to his watch.
He let his fingers sink into the crumbling soil as looked around the at world he was about to leave. The moon was almost gone. His eyes found the orange bleeding into lavender sky in the east. A ghost of his trademark smirk touched his lips and he slipped in to darkness.
My first attempt at angst so please let me know what you think.
The title comes from the Swahili proverb Desire first, death afterwards (Tamaa mbele, mauti nyuma) and it pretty much means that no one ever thinks of the possibIlity of death when concentrating on achieving a particular end. It seemed fitting.
It was inspired by the Maasai fable of how death came in to the world. A man was told that when someone dies he had to say "Man die and come back again, moon die, and remain away" but the first time someone died, he made a mistake and said "Moon die and come back again, man die and stay away."
Anyway, thank you for reading :) x
Disclaimer: I own zip.