Angel of Mourning (2nd Place WDC Cntst)

Frederick lay on the hospital bed. The rhythmic beeps of the EKG fell in perfect time with the fluorescent green peaks on the screen. His bloodshot eyes scanned the feeding tube inserted in his side. A tear slid down his cheek and landed silently on the sterile pillow. He knew his time was near.

Maggie shuffled into the room. Her smile contrasted with her red, puffy eyes. “Hi, Daddy.”

“Hi, squirt.”

“You haven’t called me that in a while.”

“Well, I’m just recalling a lot of my life right now. You understand.”

“Don’t talk like that.” Her head wagged in denouncement.

“Come on girl. I know I’m dying. You need to come to grips with it too.”

Maggie turned away and took two steps toward the window. “I can’t. You’re my Daddy. What will I do without you?”

“You’ll survive. You’ve got to be strong for Cassidy, Brittany, and Phillip. Quite a crew you have there, and I’m a very proud grandpa. Dying is as natural as birth.”

“Thanks, Dad.” She twirled around and hugged her father tight. Tears mingled with his as they tapped on the sheets. Fred gulped in a few breaths. His breathing became shallow.

“Daddy?”

“I love you,” he rasped. “Be strong.”

“Daddy!”

Fred’s breathing became but a wisp, and buzzers sounded. The EKG scratched erratically and several lights flipped from green to red.

“Nurse!” She screamed as she stumbled into the hall. “Come quick. It’s my father!”

A team of three nurses wheeled a crash cart down the hall and skidded into the room. After a few injections and several attempts with the paddles, Fred’s body lay stone still. The head nurse Agnes looked at Maggie. “I’m sorry. He’s gone. Time of death is,” she peered at the clock, “ten fifty three pm.”

“No.” Maggie flopped into the orange chair. “Tell me it’s not true.”

Agnes placed her arms around her and squeezed her tight. “I’m so sorry. He’s in a better place now.”

“Thank you. I know you did everything you could.” Maggie arose. She glanced at her father’s still frame, and walked out the door.

…………………….

“The Angel of Death has taken him. You must now be involved,” The archangel stated.

“I understand.” Her black shimmering attire conversed with the white light and shining gold around her. Only her wings seemed to match with the rest of the angelic hoard floating about. She dove through the cloud layer and soared toward Earth.

She flew across the sky and descended upon the cold mountaintop. A sliver of the sun hovered on the horizon and within minutes night began its march upon the ancient ground. Cithera scanned the grave markers. She nodded to the still voice which guided her – the voice of Death. “Yes. I see it now.”

She approached the intricately carved stone cross. Weeds entwined the base. Small letters in the ancient tongue labeled it: Frederick Henry Thompson. She prayed. Black roses sprang from the ground and she kneeled at its base and picked them. She breathed in the unusual scent and lay them upon the gravesite.

The voices came as if with the moonlight. She could see Maggie driving in the rain. Her eyes poured with tears as she occasionally wiped them away. What will I do without my Daddy? He was so much a part of my life. Maybe life just isn’t worth living.

Cithera whispered, “No. He taught you well my dear. He wants you to live. Take care of his grandchildren.”

Maggie’s thoughts spun with the day’s events. Her husband left her two months prior. Maybe I did spend too much time with him at the hospital. It’s my fault we split. I’m such a terrible wife and mother. Neglecting my children. Why?

Cithera whispered, “He left because he wanted to. It had nothing to do with your father. Your father was a kind and generous man. Your future is bright. Your children need you.”

She pressed the accelerator harder. The needle crept to eighty mph. She passed several cars and swerved in and out of traffic. Life really isn’t worth it. Why do we fight so hard to even stay alive? We’re all going to die any way. What’s the point?

Cithera caressed one of the roses. “Maggie, your thoughts are only of you. You must think of Cassidy, Brittany, and Phillip. They need you. You are a good mother. Killing yourself is not the answer. Think of how they’ll feel.”

Maggie shifted lanes and rambled by a semi doing 105 mph. She swerved in front of the huge truck and glanced at the brake pedal. At this speed this will do it.

“Stop!” Cithera gripped the rose tighter. “Remember the good times, Maggie. Cassidy’s first birthday. Brittany’s first day at school. Phillip’s first report card of straight A’s. Don’t you see? You are the one they look up to. Just like you looked up to your father.”

Maggie’s foot relaxed. The car slowed. She nodded. “They do look up to me,” she whispered. “What would they do without me and Dad?” Maggie noticed the mile marker, and turned at the next exit. Soon, she stopped in front of her house and stared at the misty moon above. “Thank you,” she lipped.

Cithera smiled. A warm rush filtered through her and a beam of light stretched down to the grave. A swirl of wind lifted her high above the ancient holy ground. “My mission is complete. Take care of yourself, Maggie.”

The weeds at the base of the grave shriveled and melted into the dust of the Earth. The flowers turned from black to a candy red. They took root and bloomed anew. Frederick’s name shimmered in the bright white light.

Cithera whispered, “Fred, you are now at peace. Be free. Your daughter is safe from her demons.”

Suddenly, his soul escaped from the dirt and followed her into the clouds above.


985 Words
Short Story Contest PDG for September 2010

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Second Place