The Burden - A Short Story (2/3) By Joe Hakim

(1/3), (2/3), (3/3).

I drop the hammer to the floor and make myself another drink. I put the radio on and flick through the channels looking for I-don't-know-what. Eventually I settle on a station. Cole Porter's Every Time I Say Goodbye is playing. It reminds me of my mother, and I want to ring her. I want to tell her I'm going to die, but I can't. It would just hurt her even more. "You're different," she said to me the last time I saw her. "Something's wrong, isn't it? Please tell me, what's happening to you?" I smiled and put my hand on her face.

"It's nothing. I've just lost a bit of weight. It just something that happens when you go travelling." "You're lying to me, I can tell," she said, looking right through me.

"I'm okay," I said, but I could see by her face she didn't believe me. She looked weak and scared. At some point while I was away she had become a frightened old lady, and deep down I knew it was my fault. I close my eyes. Forgive me father. When you left us, I promised I would look after her, and I will. One day she'll know I did everything I could, and she'll be proud of me father, as will you, when we meet again I snap awake. I must have fallen asleep in my chair. It's dark now, and my head hurts. I look at my watch. I've missed my lecture but it doesn't matter now, I suppose.

It's funny how knowing you're going to die soon makes time-keeping irrelevant.

I pray and then I drink a glass of water. It feels cool as it slips down my throat, renewing me and refreshing me. I go into the bathroom and put the light on, and I flinch as the light fills the room. I decide to run a bath. I turn the taps on, and as the water fills the tub I look at myself in the mirror. I look at the patchy beard on my chin and the dark patches below my eyes. I don't recognise the person looking back at me, and the strangers face slowly becomes obscured by the steam covering the mirror. I keep watching until I'm looking at nothing more than a blur, a mish-mash of colour and shapes.

Eventually the bath is full. It's really hot and I lower myself in slowly, feeling the tang of the liquid against my skin. I think about all those conversations you have when you're little about all the things you want to do before you die: jump from a plane; drive a race car; travel as far as you can; find love. It's funny how knowing you're going to die soon makes you think of everything you never did, but should have.

My time is nearly over now. I lie back and try and empty my head. I'm going to a better place, I truly believe that, but I'm scared. There's so much I haven't done yet, so much I'll never do. I want to cry again but now isn't the time - now is the time for joy. I must embrace the glory of what I'll become. Looking at my life, I see it stretched out, leading up to this point like veins and arteries heading towards the heart of something. I shave myself without looking in the mirror. The water becomes red with my own blood, a precursor to the future, of things to come.

Continued...Next Page (3/3)

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