The man named Q
Rated K+
Summery, Kathryn lays dieing, who better to help out then Q. a short story written in rhyme.
Umm God owns all!
A warm hand grasp cold,
In an action,
So very old
A shattered man
Bends down,
Clasping a tiny hand.
Words saying to fight are spoken
To the undersized form
That lay there broken
A precious life lay in the balance,
He's just wishing
That she'd break that awful silence.
The doctor's face is grim,
As he turns from her,
To look at him
He shakes his head,
And with solemn voice says,
I'm sorry, but she is dead.
The room is so quiet
That the sound of grief rings
So loud that no one could ever miss it.
The man sinks to the ground,
Sitting by the silent figures bed,
Not moving not making a sound.
When from out of the blue,
A sound comes, one that is centuries old.
But at the moment very new
"Chakotay"
A whispered voice
Does say.
Jumping up to see,
Still
The form no longer be.
Fills the room,
Q At the foot of the bed
Did loom.
Holding the sight of many eyes,
He jokes and grins, the he says
"Now what would I do if she dies?"
Then the Q departs
As the man hugs and kisses the woman,
The kiss deepens as her lips part.
The man then offers a silent thank you,
To the man that they had once called a pest,
The man named Q.