This is my Friday Fictioneers submission for 7th August 2015. Thanks to Madison Woods for the prompt. Best wishes to Rochelle, too.
(Nb, this is quite a sombre one for me but I felt like a change. I’ve also checked the word count and it’s way over. Sadly, there’s no time to edit though Is think I could probably get it down to 100 words)
He’d been a man of science until the doctor gave him the diagnosis. Afterwards, he’d quickly renounced his scepticism. He’d rediscovered his faith, embraced alternative lifestyles, engaged in charitable works; if he was being punished, he thought, he’d do whatever he could to atone for his sins. At one stage, before the illness really took hold, he’d travelled north, to wish on a shooting star, but it had been an overcast night and he’d been forced to return home, wondering what was left for him to do.
Nothing had worked. The tumour continued to nest, ominously, in his rib cage, as immune to surgery as it was to blind hope.
As he weakened, and fear took hold, he started to wonder if this was a fitting end for a man who’d made his living in the tobacco industry. Karma, perhaps, he’d thought, before he decided that was a leap too far into the kingdom of the faithful.