The constant bipping of the monitor displayed evidence that vital organs were working.
Sync stood beside the bed looking at his friend. The smell of disinfectant penetrated his nostrils with a vengeance in this hour of sadness. Her eyes were closed. She breathed unaided. Her breaths came long and slow with an extended pause in between. Some pauses went on for a long time. He thought she had stopped breathing. Then she’d begin the drawn-out labour of inhaling again.
Edith’s skin had all but lost its colour. Her grey-white hair had been smoothed back onto the pillow. Her wrinkled aged-blotched arms rested on the sheet. It was pulled up to her armpits. A washed up hospital gown covered her to the neck.
It was an impersonal way to end a life without her own things around her. She deserved familiarity at the end.
Sync held her hand. She lacked the warmth he’d come to look forward to on his visits to her flat. Her hand was cold, still.
As he absorbed the sadness a bubble of white light surrounded her. Her life’s details listed in his mind. He didn’t want to know her personal details though such knowledge was irrelevant now. Soon it’s all that would be left of Edith aside from photos and memories. All personal effects would be passed on to family members or sold or donated. He’d become fond of her, had only ever seen her in her own surroundings, with her own things around her. Those images would stay with him forever.
The last detail he received was her date of death, tomorrow.
He looked at his watch. An hour and a half till midnight.
A lump formed in his throat. It was barely audible when he spoke.
“Goodbye my friend.”
By Diane L Wood
My Bio: http://write-intention.com/Diane_L_Wood.html