Ficly

Decision

The light came through the window, landing on the small card table that had sat in his kitchen for years. The sun felt good, he closed his eyes, leaning forward to feel its warm kiss. His glass of water refracted the light onto the table top. Dust danced in the light, appearing almost charming… miniscule faeries dancing in delight of a new day.

A new day, he thought to himself sighing. How many more of these were left? How many had he wasted being sad? How many did he even want? Since her death the days had lost meaning. He always thought he’d go first; they were both healthy for their age but he was twelve years her senior. Her illness had come quickly; stolen her suddenly.

Days went from taking walks together with their old hound, eating on the front porch watching the neighborhood hum with life, and reading, to sitting here, or in his chair, still with this sadness.

He looked down at the white pills cradled in the wrinkled parchment map of his lifelines and contemplated not taking them…

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