Last Words
Fiction
Patrick Harris
Issue date: 10/23/09 Section: Creative Writing
I'm cold, of course. I haven't been warm for months. Not in the hospital, with its scientifically calibrated climate system. Certainly not in my suddenly empty home, where the previously comforting trappings seem to sap my energy.
Of course, I've been hiking up a mountain since the sun rose, so I guess the chill isn't entirely unexpected. I had hoped the day would warm up a bit, but the crisp fall air still stings the back of my throat on every inhale. I think this would annoy me less if I had remembered my sunglasses, but instead I've spent the morning squinting and stumbling between shivers.
My watch beeps at me, letting me know the day is half over, and just then I trip over a chunk of stone. I land with a curse, acquiring several bruises in the process. With a sigh, I roll over and slide away from the edge of the trail, leaning against a large chunk of boulder. I'm more or less where I wanted to be anyway, and I certainly can't complain about the view. I look out over the valley, taking in the riotous colors of fall, and follow the winding river, glittering under the sunlight like diamonds in darkness. The beauty nearly distracts me from the dull ache in my knee, and I rub it unconsciously as the pain begins - ever so slowly - to subside.
When my heart rate has settled a bit, I reach in to my pack and pull out a small silver dish. I place it on the ground next to me, and lift the top off carefully, trying not to lose any of the contents. I set everything down with a neurotic neatness that I'll never escape, then tap out a cigarette. I light it with a flash of silver, then watch the flame for a moment before snapping the lighter shut and stuffing it back in my pocket.
The smoke feels like sickness in my lungs, and I pull a face as the taste sinks in, but I don't cough - I may be out of practice, but I'm no novice. I make myself savor it, then exhale carefully, watching the smoke coil around itself before it drifts away. After that the autopilot kicks in, and I finish methodically, staring blankly at the burning cylinder between puffs, tapping the ash in to the silver dish. I find myself fixating on my gloves, annoyed at having to wash them now but too cold to take them off, and I'm down to the filter without warning.
I strip the butt, tossing it in with my lighter, and throw myself to my feet with a groan. Capping the silver dish, I walk towards the edge of the trail, ignoring the twinges from every joint, and take a deep breath, looking down.
"Well, babe ... here we are," I find myself saying. "I went ahead and had one last one for you. Seemed like the thing to do."
I pause for a time, letting what little warmth the sun provides soak in, until some wild impulse seizes me. In a sudden motion I pitch the silver dish outward, arcing high into the blue sky. I lose sight of it for a moment in the sun, then see the two halves trailing away downward as a cloud of dark ash dissipates in the wind.
"I love you," I whisper, and I stand there for a while, looking at nothing. After a while, I start to feel that old familiar urge to see if I can fly, and I back away from the edge carefully, starting down the trail towards my car.
Of course, I've been hiking up a mountain since the sun rose, so I guess the chill isn't entirely unexpected. I had hoped the day would warm up a bit, but the crisp fall air still stings the back of my throat on every inhale. I think this would annoy me less if I had remembered my sunglasses, but instead I've spent the morning squinting and stumbling between shivers.
My watch beeps at me, letting me know the day is half over, and just then I trip over a chunk of stone. I land with a curse, acquiring several bruises in the process. With a sigh, I roll over and slide away from the edge of the trail, leaning against a large chunk of boulder. I'm more or less where I wanted to be anyway, and I certainly can't complain about the view. I look out over the valley, taking in the riotous colors of fall, and follow the winding river, glittering under the sunlight like diamonds in darkness. The beauty nearly distracts me from the dull ache in my knee, and I rub it unconsciously as the pain begins - ever so slowly - to subside.
When my heart rate has settled a bit, I reach in to my pack and pull out a small silver dish. I place it on the ground next to me, and lift the top off carefully, trying not to lose any of the contents. I set everything down with a neurotic neatness that I'll never escape, then tap out a cigarette. I light it with a flash of silver, then watch the flame for a moment before snapping the lighter shut and stuffing it back in my pocket.
The smoke feels like sickness in my lungs, and I pull a face as the taste sinks in, but I don't cough - I may be out of practice, but I'm no novice. I make myself savor it, then exhale carefully, watching the smoke coil around itself before it drifts away. After that the autopilot kicks in, and I finish methodically, staring blankly at the burning cylinder between puffs, tapping the ash in to the silver dish. I find myself fixating on my gloves, annoyed at having to wash them now but too cold to take them off, and I'm down to the filter without warning.
I strip the butt, tossing it in with my lighter, and throw myself to my feet with a groan. Capping the silver dish, I walk towards the edge of the trail, ignoring the twinges from every joint, and take a deep breath, looking down.
"Well, babe ... here we are," I find myself saying. "I went ahead and had one last one for you. Seemed like the thing to do."
I pause for a time, letting what little warmth the sun provides soak in, until some wild impulse seizes me. In a sudden motion I pitch the silver dish outward, arcing high into the blue sky. I lose sight of it for a moment in the sun, then see the two halves trailing away downward as a cloud of dark ash dissipates in the wind.
"I love you," I whisper, and I stand there for a while, looking at nothing. After a while, I start to feel that old familiar urge to see if I can fly, and I back away from the edge carefully, starting down the trail towards my car.
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