I Hate Goodbyes

         Mort Henning never believed he would die without saying goodbye to Annette.  Now, pinned to the forest floor beneath a large cedar, this unimaginable death seemed certain.  Mort could feel his blood pooling underneath him, warm and thick. The afternoon sun shone through the boughs onto his face, warming his tears.  So many mistakes.  Alone in the bush.  Cutting on a windy day.  Saw teeth not perfectly sharp.  Not kissing Annette before leaving the house.
         Alone.  The sun moves slowly toward the distant mountaintops.  Night approaches, but Mort knows he will not see darkness.  He has lost too much blood.  He thinks again of the accident, the wind whipping up, the saw binding.  He could have ran, but he held on to the saw.  He heard the crack of splintering wood, and it was too late.
         The sky darkens and it begins to rain.  Mort Henning closes his eyes.

Word Count  150