by Andrew Reynolds
“He doesn’t have long, miss. I’m sorry.”
Ellese waved her hand, seeing with her own eyes that things were bad for Mark. A strong, vibrant man when they’d been in high school, he was gaunt and confined to a hospital bed, wires and tubes connected to him everywhere. She walked to his bedside, saw his eyes open and begin to track her. Then he smiled, and her heart melted like it had all those years ago.
His voice was so weak she could barely hear it, but it still moved her. He took her hand, and suddenly she saw….
A stretch of what she knew was tundra.
Rainforest as far as she could see.
Then she stood on a hillside, looking at a bay under a beautiful sunset sky, and realized Mark was standing next to her.
“I remember seeing this and thinking how much you were with me to share it. I love you, Ellese, and I always have, and I wish we could have shared this perfect moment. Goodbye.”
Then the scene was gone, and so was Mark, and love left her heart.
Andrew Reynolds is a writer of fact and fiction. His published work includes three years op-ed columnist with “The Weekly Observer”, writer, editor and chief bottle washer for “The Spacer’s Digest” and various letters to local newspapers. He is currently engaged in the never-ending struggle to complete his first novel.