One More Minute To Live
Rated: T
By: Evantis
A random drabble that popped into my head. It's kind of depressing, morbid(as the title suggests) and somewhat vague, so I'm not expectin' many reviews.
It's LeonCloud, of course, but nothing explicit, except some obscene language here and there. Meaning from title can be derived from the story, so please read and find out!
Remember to post your comments, okay:)
Since this is one of the lousiest things I've ever written, I just hope you'll be nice to me, though. This IS a drabble after all, I can't be bothered to really intensely check for grammatical errors, like I do in my other fics.
Enjoy. And review.
-
I can feel it.
My flesh is being eaten away, my bones hollowed out, my cheeks turning pallid and pale, my eyes weary, dull and lifeless.
This is what I've become.
I lie on the cot, my sheets tangled uncomfortably around my sweaty body, and I cry, moan and lash out at anybody who tries to touch me. I can hear Aerith's soothing voice somewhere, feel Yuffie's hand on mine, and even Cid cussing at the nurses. Vincent's cool tone is relaxing, but none of this is helping.
I cry out again, as a wave of pain rushes through my body.
I feel something poking into my elbow, and I know it's sedation. I scream in frustration, indignation, and desperation.
But nobody can understand me anymore.
After all, I can't speak anymore.
-
I wait on a bench in the park, a Styrofoam cup of hot milk coffee next to me. I watch, as children run past by with dogs chasing them, or maybe parents and a sibling or two. I watch, the serenity of the environment giving me a sense of peace – something I've not had for the past few days.
St. Advent's Hospital seems far away from me now. I have no reason to return to that morbid place. I will only be hurting Cloud more, with my senseless comments.
My name is Squall Leonhart.
I'm tall, masculine, though thin, have grey-blue eyes and brown hair and my boyfriend is dying.
Fast.
And I don't want to watch it.
-
In my sleep, I can hear, feel and almost touch demons. They're from Hell, I can tell. They're beckoning me forward, telling me to fall into that embrace. It's terribly seductive, because the closer to them I get, the less pain I feel. Sort of like morphine. Except that these demons are offering an embrace that will take me to a sleep I will never wake from.
I'm more or less calmed down now.
I listen, with dazed, half-opened eyes to Aerith reading a story. Yuffie is stifling her tears, her fingers entwined with mine. Cid is pacing the room, and Vincent sits still in the corner, his crimson eyes never leaving me.
I feel thin, weak and helpless. I know my body is getting weaker. I can feel it everyday.
It's probably mere hours to my death.
The demons have brought an alarm clock, and I can hear it ticking.
Till midnight, they say.
I weakly bring my eyes to focus on the blurred vision of a clock before me. Half past three in the afternoon. I still have time.
-
I walk down the street, not really seeing where I'm going. I know I must be headed somewhere, but I just don't know where. I'm certainly not going within a kilometre radius of that hospital.
A vision flashes across my eyes, and my heart is wrenched tight with guilt, pain and grief. Oh, Hyne, oh, hyne – I didn't want to see that memory anymore.
I didn't want to envision Cloud in his mind, wrapped in blankets on his cot, lying lifelessly, listlessly and lethargically, his dull blue eyes drooping with sleep, his body getting noticeably thinner and weaker as the days past. Time never moved so fast before, and I hate its new speed with every fibre of my body.
As I walk, I ponder.
How much time does Cloud have left?
-
Half past four.
An hour has passed, and still the scene in my ward remains the same. Aerith is still reading, Yuffie has fallen asleep against my cot, but her hand is still wrapped around mine. Vincent is sleeping, as well, and Cid has gone out for a smoke.
My body is deadening. The weight and burden is getting too much. I can't hold on much longer, I can hear the demons' cries just behind me, making the hair on the back of neck stand.
But, no.
Shiva, no! I can't go to them.
Absolutely not.
Not until I've seen Leon again.
I will do anything just to see him again. Just to be able to tell him that it doesn't matter. I don't hate him for what he said. Hyne, if everything would just go my way…
I want to move, thrash and scream again, but the medication is getting to me. I'm still weak, my body deadweight like a stone, and my fingers just twitching feebly.
I really can't look any more pathetic, can I?
-
It's eight-thirty. I lie on my couch, watching television.
My roommate, Axel – walks in and he throws me a shoddy glance, before saying, "Aren't ya supposed to be at the hospital?"
I glare at him. It's none of his business.
"No."
Axel shrugs, and walks away. "I'm going over with Roxas later. Suit yourself, Leonhart."
His words literally mean, "Fuck you, Leonhart." That's the hidden meaning behind "Suit yourself, Leonhart." Well, fuck him, since I'm not going anywhere. I'm not going.
I don't deserve to be in that hospital.
I switch channels constantly, and fall asleep in front of the electronic box that was portraying a thousand different digital images.
-
It's eleven-fifteen. Finally, Aerith and the others have gone home. I can do this now.
I know Leon's not coming.
He's never going to come, no matter how much my heart aches for him. He said things, and he thought I didn't forgive them. That's just the most ideal situation that ever came by my way, you know? Asking for verbal forgiveness from a person now rendered mute. I just had to have lousy luck.
I wait until the nurse is safely out of my room, and the lights in the corridor dim, before I force myself up.
Most of the medication's effects are fading, though my body still feels heavy and weak. My head becomes light, as I sit up. Oh, Hyne – the numbness, the pain – the flare of my open surgery wounds.
With a trembling, bandaged hand I reach out for the notebook Aerith always leaves on the table next to my cot. She writes shopping lists in it, but who gives a care?
Thank Hyne, there's a pen in the ringed binder. My fingers fumble as I loop it out. I lean heavily against the headboard of the cot, and sigh with relief. Blessed relief for my aching, weakening back.
I glance up at the clock. I still have thirty-nine more minutes to live.
I want to cry, as I write what I can't say. My mouth trembles with rasping, harsh breaths. I can feel the burning around my body, and wheezes fighting to climb out of my chest. My lung roars with pain, and I stifle a cry. My eyes start to glaze over, my hand becomes shaky in its writing, but I continue. I continue because I have to.
The demons are behind me. They're close to victory, and they know it.
I gasp for breath, but continue writing.
That's it. I have to just keep writing. I have to just…
By the Bahamut, I can't keep the demons out. They're screaming into my ear, repeating my remaining lifespan to me over and over again.
I drop the pen.
Oh, fuck it.
My body moans and screams bloody murder, as I heave myself off the cot. I land on the floor more heavily than I had anticipated, and a small whimper fought its way out from between my lips. My body is getting wearier, everything's heavier, and I crawl, step by step, towards that Hyne-forsaken-and-hopefully-damned-in-future pen.
My fingers unsteadily close around it, and my erratic breaths get worse. I collapse, the notebook and pen in front of me, my words in a messy jumble from all my shaking.
Let it be legible. Please let it be legible.
I stare at the clock again. I have approximately twelve more minutes to live.
My hand is desperate now, my handwriting morphing into an untidy scrawl. Who cares if anyone can't read it? At least they know I tried.
I tried to let them know.
I tried to let Leon know.
My heart aches, my body screams, and my mind throbs.
Hyne, can this get any worse?
I hear the demons screaming behind me.
They know I'm losing, but fuck them. I'm not going to lose. I'm going to do this, and I'm going to accomplish me.
Three minutes, is whispered into my ear.
Something seems to have struck my back, making it blaze with unimaginable agony. I fall on my side, trembling, sweat coating my face.
Just a little bit more.
Just a little…
One more minute.
The pen falls from my hand, and I breathe weakly through my battered, tattered lungs.
And like a wine connoisseur, I savour my last moments on Earth. It's one of those moments you can never feel again, you know? The feel of your very spirit slipping out of your body, the tingling sensation of reality fading out, and the wonderful numbing seeping into your pained, hurt and weak body.
The demons pounce.
And everything turns black.
At least the pain is gone.
-
Leon,
I don't care what you said that night. It's not wrong to say, 'I love you' to a dying person, right? Please don't discriminate me. I still have feelings. It wasn't your words that hurt me, it was the fact that you never came back.
I missed you. I cried for you. But don't feel guilty now, because I don't feel angry anymore. Writing this note is killing me, seeing as I only have eighteen more minutes to live. I'm dying, Leon. It's in every part of my body. It's telling me that. But I don't care anymore. I really don't.
I guess I'm writing all the stuff I couldn't say to you, not with my sickness and all. It's spreading, Leon. It's eating up my body, and I can feel it. It's painful, and I don't feel human.
I wanted to see you, Leon. More than anything. I wanted to hear your comforting words again. But all I got was Aerith's story. I guess this is what my future has become. Blackness.
I have one more minute to live.
I can't anymore, and I couldn't in the past either, but I just wanted to tell you that I love you, too.
Very much.
Cloud
P.S. You never came back, Leon. And now I can't.