Many Deaths Before Death

• Tom Halth, Grade 11
• Short Story
• 2021

Darkness envelopes my mind, making me feel so alone. I don’t fight it. It’s all encompassing, obscuring my memories and thoughts. I try to remember what happened, but I feel numb. Maybe I don’t want to remember, but I sense something - something skulking at the edge of the darkness. A memory, threatening to rear its ugly head. Suddenly it cuts through the darkness and I’m plunged into a blurry memory. As I start to remember….it’s almost like living it again…

It was a gloomy day. The snowstorm hung over the small town like a curtain, bringing down cascades of snow. It was no weather for adults to be outside, less again a child. I was on my way to work, reversing down the driveway of my house. I was sure that there was no one behind me. Then, as if by an invisible hand, the snow parted but it was already too late.

Eyes wide. Screaming. Flashing lights.

The memory fades back into the recesses.

Next thing I remember she was taken to the hospital. All I know is that she sustained severe injuries to the head. Fast-forward and I’m in the hospital waiting room, floating away in emptiness of my mind. Her parents sit across the room from me…except they don’t know it was me. A potent mix of guilt and fear rush through my veins. The ‘in operation’ sign casts a ghastly glow over the room. What could be the consequences of my actions? Death. This answer makes the hair stand on end. The minutes seemed to stretch into hours…

I was pulled out of this trance by the arrival of a nurse. She went over to consult the parents and I try to listen in as best as I could.

“…she’s in a coma. Her vitals are stable for better or worse. If there is no change, she might not last until morning.”

The mother started sobbing into the shoulder of the fathers. The nurse says they needed a miracle. My emotions burst forth like a dam that had just burst its walls. I start to suspect I have committed an even greater crime. Cowardice. The racking sobs that come forth from the mother come at me like punches, forcing the air out of my stomach. They don’t even know that the man that could be responsible for the death of their daughter is mere metres away. How would I be able to live with myself if the worst happens. I would never forgive myself and I would ever forget. I can’t take it anymore. The guilt is overwhelming and all encompassing. It hangs in the bottom of my stomach like a weight. I need to tell the parents, not only for me but for them. I need to be accountable. Maybe my internal judgement is far harsher? I don’t know. But I know what I need to do, for as Shakespeare says, “a coward will die many times before their death.”