The Passing

This is a slightly sombre Friday Fictioneers submission. I expect there’ll be a lot of similar interpretations so I wanted to be the first. I’ve very deliberately kept to 100 words this time but it’s one if those where I feel I’d like more to play with and get a bit of imagery going here and there. In a way though, I like the economy; it almost mirrors the way the protagonist has to repress her emotions, even if it’s unintentional

“No,” she said, “let me stay here”

She wouldn’t let me call the ambulance. I begged her, drove the nails hard into the palm of my hand to stop myself screaming. It couldn’t end like this. Nothing worked. She wouldn’t go, wouldn’t see out those final moments in the hospital.

At least I’d be with her when she went, keeping a candlelit bedside vigil. I kissed her on the forehead and, wrong as it might have been, hoped it would be a long night.

But it was dark, and I was tired. When I woke up, she was already gone.