Death: the end of a person.
He had been told twice that he was dying, first by a doctor, then by himself. It had been a lousy second opinion. And now he was beginning to doubt that either prognosis had even been accurate.
He was still breathing.
So much fuss, pain and anguish over nothing. So many sleepless nights.
A waste of time and effort.
The days had passed slowly at first, after that initial blur, long drawn out hours of suffering.
Then it had felt normal.
Then it was normal.
And years passed.
After a time he realised that he had died, in a sense, by having too readily accepted what he thought was his reality. He should have kicked and screamed. But no.
And now, still breathing, he wanted his life back. Before something else had a chance to ruin it.
© JR Bryden, 2017. Unauthorized use and/or duplication of this material without express and written permission from JR Bryden is strictly prohibited.