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He was dying.
That was an undeniable fact. His body was weak and frail. His thoughts were dull and cloudy. Memories, once so vivid, eluded his mind's grasp like hazy mist.
As he lay on the hospital bed, the smell of antiseptic and soap tickled his nose. The world around him felt distant and unreal. Flitting like fairies, people hovered at the edges of his vision—were they friends, family, or mere strangers? He wasn't able to muster his faltering memory to recall.
The feeling as his life oozed out of him was terrifying. Tears moistened his dry, bloodshot eyes. He felt afraid, regretful, and… frustrated. He didn't want to die, not like this, robbed of his memories, robbed of his very identity.
Desperate, he reached deep within his mind and pulled. He clawed for a memory—any memory—he could cling to in death. His head burned. Pain seared into his skull as he fought against death, fought against the illness that claimed his memories.
CRACK!
Something shattered in his mind. His eyes grew wide as memories of the life he had once lived washed over him. Overwhelmed by the torrent of memories, he trembled as he tried to grasp it all. Faces of loved ones, moments of joy and sorrow, achievements and failures—they all came rushing back. Each memory linked together in pieces, slowly reconstructing the identity he thought he had lost.
His name was Glen, a composer and musician. His life was a fulfilling one, a perfect mix of both music and family. Glen swelled with emotion as he recognized the figures around him—his wife, his children, and his grandchildren. Their presence brought a pang to his heart.
Nostalgic, Glen's mind drifted to a song he made, one that was especially dear to him. It was a catchy and cheerful tune that became almost a tradition for him to sing every year at family gatherings. He could almost hear the sound of his ukulele, the laughter, and the clapping of his loved ones. Those times were moments of joy, a time when music brought his family together, creating a bond that felt nigh unbreakable. But death… breaks all bonds.
Glen opened his mouth to speak. He yearns to tell his family he remembers them, that he loves them. His mind strung together words: words to express to his wife, Clara, how beautiful and timeless she is; words to convey to Lucas and Ava, his children, his pride in them; and words to apologize to his grandchildren for his forced absence in their lives. But his body refused to cooperate—his mouth and tongue were no longer fully connected to his mind.
“Gaahhhh,” was all that escaped Glen’s lips.
His family, perhaps sensing his struggle, gathered closer. Their brows were furrowed with concern and anxiety as they observed him. Clara sniffled as she held his hand, offering what warmth she could before the inevitable.
Glen’s eyes blazed with fury. How dare his body prevent him from communicating with his family? Was this how fate condemned him? To remember, but to forever wallow in silence as death claims him?
In a final act of defiance, Glen began to hum. The same melody he once sang at his family gatherings vibrated in his throat. The tune, once energetic and cheerful, took on a slow, haunting cadence as Glen forced himself to articulate each and every note clearly. His wife, recognizing the tune, tears in her eyes, joined in softly, humming along with him. His children soon started humming along as well, then his grandchildren followed. Their individual voices mingled together, forming a somber but also heartfelt melody.
Tears streamed down Glen’s face—tears not of sorrow but contentedness. He still felt himself dying, returning to death’s embrace. But this time, humming his tune and surrounded by family, he welcomed it with open arms.
And with that last note hanging in the air, Glen’s eyelids snapped shut. His eyes to open nevermore.166Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡGpYHnreZ1O
