I am dying, a sword through my chest. It was an elegant blade with its pure black steel reflecting the light from the lantern I placed on my desk. The person behind me remained silent as my life blood drained from me leaving my skin pale-white. My grey vest ruined, its buttons ripped from the seams and stained scarlet. I can’t help but feel regret since I had only bought it yesterday, but I suppose it hardly matters anymore. I can’t help but chuckle at this which quickly changes into a coughing fit as the blade is removed.
My assailant missed both my heart and spine puncturing only my lung, barely enough to kill me, but kill me it will… hours later. The amount of time I have left can be counted on one hand now; this country in Western Europe doesn’t have the facilities to save me nor could they send an ambulance in time. I liked quiet for my research and my isolation was enjoyable if a bit lonely, still I have made much progress the last few months, a bit too much as I see the young man going over my notes occasionally checking on me.
I don’t know why he seems so wary of me though, I’m an old man after all who can barely walk without my walking stick. It’s a wonderful design. The smooth cherry blossom wood vanished, a crest of my noble house, not that nobility matters much in these times still I like being reminded of my families roots, a sought of ode to a once cherished dead culture, but what is truly eye-catching is the angelic wings sculpted as its head.
It’s amusing how I recollect all the useless things right before my end but it brings me comfort like no other. I hear the young man flick his fingers in front of my face to grab my attention, turning towards him I give him a quizzical expression, taking the hint he replies “I know you probably won’t answer this old man but where do you store your older files?”
Chuckling, I once more go into a coughing fit. He seems disappointed by this but I wave him over to underneath a desk to my left. He looks at me strangely; I guess I would too in his position. He moves the desk away from the wall revealing a safe with a combination lock. “7-3-9-2-6” I manage to wheeze out the numbers giving him enough time to input each one before saying the next.
I hear the seal release. A satisfying decompressing noise as the air is forced inside of it from the outside. I turn towards him as he grabs my research notes from the last few years, carefully placing them in his suit case. After doing this he looks at me and stares into my eyes for a bit before muttering ‘why?’ It wasn’t audible but I saw the question on his lips and in his eyes. “It would have rotted in there anyway.” I say wiping away the blood leaking from the edge of my mouth with my handkerchief which I always have in my chest pocket.
Stolen from Royal Road, this story should be reported if encountered on Amazon.
Regret flashed across his eyes as he fell into contemplation, I feel sorry for him; he looks kind of lost, tears in his eyes. I know people like him, worked with them before. They are people who still have things to lose, things which can be used against them such as family members and such. “Don’t feel so down, if you had asked for my research normally, I would have told you to go to hell.” I laugh as pain lashes through my body, blood once more returning to my lips and with it the taste of iron. “If you feel so bad about it would you fetch me my walking stick, I would very much like to die with it in my hands. It’s sort of a family tradition you see.”
He nods and looks for it, returning it to me a few minutes later. “Good now pass me that blade of yours.” He looks at me with suspicion once more but before he refuses I speak once more. “I’m too old to wield something that heavy young one, I’d rather die by my own hands is all and what finer blade could there be besides this to send me off, it already has my blood on it anyway.” My voice becoming frailer the more I speak.
He gives me the sword but as I said it is too heavy to lift in my state so he helps me position it over my heart. He merely holds it up as I pull it towards me with as much strength as I can muster. I grind my teeth and a grunt of pain leaves my throat but I refuse to scream. “Look after those close to you, they are lucky to have someone like you to be there for them.” I can barely recognise my hoarse voice as my last words escape my lips.
That was my last day on Earth. I sit at my desk by my lanterns light, a handkerchief in my pocket, my new vest with its torn buttons, my families’ walking stick upon my lap, my research altogether stored in a suitcase beside me, and a truly wonderful black blade through my chest, but of all the comforts these objects afford me they are all outstripped by the young man openly weeping before me mourning my death. On September 21st 1971, I John Leviticus Luminaire died with a smile upon my face. Yes I have many regrets, things that occurred I wish could be changed but this life I have lived was truly something I would not trade for anything on this world.