Last Words

• Tylah Standen, Grade 12
• Short Story
• 2014

My arms were locked around him, chained with no key as I clung to what little life was left in his fragile body. His breathing was faint, his heart barely audible. My eyes stung from fresh tears and smoke, the fire flickering somewhere in the background. But nothing mattered as I placed my forehead to his and my long hair curtained his face from view. Nothing but him and the sound of his voice.

“It’s okay,” he tried to assure me.
“No, it isn’t. It isn’t okay Samuel. Nothing is okay. I can’t lose you,” I adjusted his limp body on my lap, hoping maybe if I positioned him differently it might bring a bit more life to his already dying form.
“Jean,” he said, and the affection in his voice caused violent sobs to overtake my body. “Hey, I will be fine.”

“No you won’t! You can’t see it! You can’t see the state of the car. You can’t see how destroyed you are!” I was screaming.
“I know I am in bad shape, but I’m still talking, so that must be a good sign right?” I wasn’t so sure, but even the idea of it being a good sign was comforting. This helped calm me a bit.

“Okay, okay, okay,” I repeated, trying to calm my rapid pulse. I took a deep breath of air only to cough and splutter. I glanced back over to the wreckage. The small blue car we had been in was no longer blue, but charcoal, with flames licking up what was left. The truck which had hit us had disappeared long ago, apparently not interested in seeing if we were okay; which we clearly were not.

There was a silence, and I could make out the sound of sirens in the far distance.
“You can’t help yourself can you?” I paused and looked down at his motionless face in surprise; a gesture which was useless considering I couldn’t see his dark eyes.
“What do you mean?” I asked.
“My hair,” he stated, and it took me a moment to realise what he meant. At some point I had started absently curling some of his short brown hair around my finger. Despite my raw emotions, I laughed.
“Sorry,” I said, knowing it annoyed him when I played with his hair.
“It’s okay,” he replied, and I could hear the sigh if resignation in his voice. So I continued the motion, allowing it to smooth away some of the pain.

The sirens became louder, and a bubble of hope rose within me. Finally, we were getting some help!
“Jean?” I looked down at his body again.
“Yeah?”
“You know I love you right?” He asked.
“Of course, and I love you too,” I replied, squeezing his body in an awkward hug.
“Good,” he replied. Then his chest went still, his beating heart froze, and his calming voice went silent.