DEATH IN 300 WORDS

“Water, you need water…”

“Yes, please, yes, some water.”

 “Don’t move. I’ll be right back.”

 “K, love you.”

She didn’t hear him. She was running towards sunrise and the well. John sat down, then fell back against the dirt. His knees were bent, his arms stretched wide. He stared up into the sky. He couldn’t believe his luck. He was broken, but he had seen with his own two eyes that she was still whole. When she got back to him, he was not awake. He had fallen asleep and he would never wake again. He had given her everything. There was nothing more to give.  

She poured drink on his lips. She begged him to wake up. She pounded on his chest. She whispered in his ear. She put her lips to his.

“Please, please come back to me. Please. Where are the children? Please, John, where are the babies? I love you. Please. Please. Please tell me.”

When the morning had been devoured by the sun, she resigned to lay her head down next to his in the dirt. Then she buried her head in his neck to hide from the afternoon rays. After some time, she unfurled and stood. She looked down at her husband. He had become unrecognizable. She walked barefooted around his body, over and over again. She was retelling their story with every step, to get reacquainted with who he once was. She knew him again by dusk, but she couldn’t love him again without their babies.

The moon came out. Blistered and blurry eyed, she left him there. She would bury him tomorrow. But first, she would find directions in his pocket to their children, translated in her native tongue. He kept his promise to her. She could love him again.