Quicklinks:
|
Great Writing - Home > Short S. > The misfortune of having a heart
| READING ROOM | ||||
|---|---|---|---|---|
|
| COMMUNITY | |||
|---|---|---|---|
|
| ABOUT GREAT WRITING | ||
|---|---|---|
|
| WORK AWAITING REVIEW |
|---|
|
| GW IS... |
|---|
|
Great Writing creative writing community is designed to prompt ideas
and provide inspiration and motivation within aspiring and amateur
authors. Whatever your topic; from love poetry to Doctor Who or Harry
Potter fan fiction, Great Writing's online writing group is where you
can make new friends and improve your creative writing. |
| WHO'S ONLINE |
|---|
| We have 1333 guests online and 8 members online |
Shorts
| print friendly version | |
| The misfortune of having a heart | |
| By Katsinella | ||||||||||||||||
| 05 April 2007 | ||||||||||||||||
|
This piece came out of no-where. Inspired by the full moon over the weekend. Interested to know what you think.. The full moon hung majestically in the milky blackness. It was still early in spring but the snow had melted in all but the highest peaks. The forest pine trees etched an outline against the dark sky. It was a snapshot of stillness which appeared to vibrate with a hidden life force. The scene was so striking that he stopped what he was doing. Calm descended upon him as if his troubles were no longer his. And tonight, for the first time in a very long time, this was true. His burdens were neatly catalogued in several sheets of paper, each addressed to the relevant people. The physical pain lingered on the edge of this peace but he was unperturbed by it. He had been contemplating writing a personal note when the moon had distracted him. The completed letters had been an easier task. They focused on facts and certainties. This other letter was one that should not be written. He had been postponing its creation hoping that perhaps there would be no need. But the need remained. In the moon’s stillness, he found determination to start the letter. He took out a sheet of thick creamy writing paper from the drawer and sat down at the table. Picking up his pen, he glanced once more outside. Ignoring a sharp pain in his stomach, he drew a deep breath, and began to write. Dearest Isabella, This is a letter that should not have to be written. The words should be said out loud, spoken to you, but I am a coward. And that you already knew. From where I sit, I’ve been watching a beautiful moon rise up above the mountains. It’s a full moon. With its perfect roundness, its luminescence flooding the valley with creamy light, it is simplicity itself. He paused to look up from his writing. He saw a sharp, rocky outcrop that defined the edge on the mountain, dropping off sharply to a lower ledge where the Falkenstein Schloss perched. I can see the Roggen clearly in this light. Do you remember when we last climbed up there? It was such a cold day. All I wanted was to stay in bed with you. But you were so determined to get out and experience the mountains. From the crest, you laughed in delight when you saw the Alps in the distance. It was then I knew I loved you. The feeling came out of nowhere. It was completely unexpected but I admit not unwelcome. Imagine being as old as I was before I experienced love! I’ve never been certain if you returned my feelings. And I’ve surprised myself in not caring. I know you’ll think this all foolish sentiment. But for the first time in my life, I find myself overwhelmed by irrational and infinite warmth for another person. I’ve never uttered the words and now I never will. But Isabella my darling, you have my heart. It is this warmth, this love for you that has kept me going in recent months. It’s also because of this love – how hard I find it to write that word – that I have come to my decision. You must be wondering why such a rambling letter, why such professions of emotions from me… Well, these ramblings have been the easy part. The hard part is how to tell you I’m dying. The prognosis is lousy and I won’t bore you with all the medical terms of the diagnosis and the mathematics of dying. Remember the pains that I complained about? They were indeed somewhat more serious. Had I taken your advice to seek proper care, then perhaps this letter would never be written. But such maudlin musings are pointless. It’s been over nine weeks since the diagnosis. You’ve been here three times since that day but I just couldn’t bring myself to tell you. His pen hovered over the last words and his mind lead him willingly back to their last weekend together. It had been another whirlwind weekend. He had picked her up from the train station and they’d had dinner in a cozy restaurant on Banhofstrasse. Having driven back to Balstal, they’d shared red wine in front of the fire. The sex had been languid but satisfying. The next morning, they hadn’t made it out of bed before lunch. Wrapped up against the final throws of winter, they’d walked along the river in companionable silence. It had been his intention to tell her then but she seemed so happy. They had stopped to watch moorhens on the water, three of them following the leader on an unseen course upstream. He’d almost spat the words out then. They had been in his head - I’m dying – but they had stayed trapped there. He took out another sheet of paper and continued to write. You were so content with life. You seemed so certain of how it was going to unfold. You had built this future to which I was invited. My words would have shattered all that. I couldn’t bring myself to do it. This letter is the coward’s way. Your sympathy would push me over the edge. And anyway, there is no help that will make the difference now. I’ve made my decision. I know it will hurt many but then I have always been a selfish bastard. My exit will be neat and tidy. No drugs, no hospice care for me. No well meaning visits from friends who have no idea what to say. It also means I never get to see the pain in your eyes. I can die taking with me the memory of you laughing in delight at the Alps and be secure in the knowledge that I love you. When you read this letter, I will be dead. There is nothing for you to do. All loose ends are tidied up. There will be no funeral service. I’ve left the Balstal house to you in the will. Perhaps the view of the Roggen will bring happiness to you as it did for me. Some say that humans have the great misfortune of having a heart. How wrong they are… having a heart has made me feel alive, and for that I thank-you. Take care and goodbye. He hesitated, and then decided he’d said all he had to say. He signed the letter, folded the sheets in half, and put them in an envelope. He addressed it clearly and laid it on top of the other letters. The earlier sharp pain in his stomach had subsided. Having done what he’d set out to do, he would now allow himself the prescribed medication that made him so drowsy. The moon still hung in the darkness of the night, and still lit up the hills and forests beneath it. He sighed resignedly. His time had finally come.
Only registered users can rate and write comments. Powered by AkoComment 2.0! |
||||||||||||||||
 Previous item
|
Next item
|
|---|