I would appreciate any constructive criticism, or just opinions. Thanks~!
I stood at the edge of the hospital roof with my toes hanging precariously over the edge, staring out into the cerulean sky. Leaves of various hues drifted gently onto the dusty, foot-worn path leading to the building. The dazzling October sun made the red and gold seem as though the bracts themselves were aflame. My mind was forced to return to the fire that had taken the lives of my family and landed me in this godforsaken place, practically in the middle of nowhere. At the very least, there was a school and a churchyard nearby. I shivered involuntarily as the slight breeze ruffled my smoke-grayed hair. The thin gown I wore did nothing to warm my frail body.
It’s so unfair. How in God’s name can it be so beautiful when I am suffering so? I asked myself plaintively, dwelling for what seemed like hours on the juxtaposition of my despair and the continuous beauty of nature. I allowed myself a derisive snort, instead turning my eyes to a group of schoolchildren cavorting nearby. Their clothes were those of the bourgeoisie; clean, crisp, and considerably warmer than what we patients were to don each day. My heart was gripped with a sudden pang of jealousy that was not for their money, oh no! I had long since learned from my mother and father to be happy with what I had.
Tears welled up unbidden in my eyes that I blinked away. Those children would have to learn of the world slowly so that they would not have to live the way I did. They would not learn of the true circumstances of my imminent death. I coughed, more out of surprise than the cold. Underneath my feet, the hospital orderlies were shouting orders back and forth to each other. I would have to steel myself for the act I was about to commit. In the eyes of the world, and indeed those of God himself, it was far worse than manslaughter.
My final thought as gravity pulled me toward the ground was not of my parents, nor was it of my own misery. No. I wished, with all my heart that I had once been like those aristocratic children with peers to play with. That was what I had longed for all my life.
It was sort of a funny realization, I thought, as I gave myself over to the wind and leaves. I felt my eyes close as though there were heavy weights glued to the lids. With my final breath, I whispered what was likely the most common phrase in this world.
“I’m…I’m sorry…”
It’s so unfair. How in God’s name can it be so beautiful when I am suffering so? I asked myself plaintively, dwelling for what seemed like hours on the juxtaposition of my despair and the continuous beauty of nature. I allowed myself a derisive snort, instead turning my eyes to a group of schoolchildren cavorting nearby. Their clothes were those of the bourgeoisie; clean, crisp, and considerably warmer than what we patients were to don each day. My heart was gripped with a sudden pang of jealousy that was not for their money, oh no! I had long since learned from my mother and father to be happy with what I had.
Tears welled up unbidden in my eyes that I blinked away. Those children would have to learn of the world slowly so that they would not have to live the way I did. They would not learn of the true circumstances of my imminent death. I coughed, more out of surprise than the cold. Underneath my feet, the hospital orderlies were shouting orders back and forth to each other. I would have to steel myself for the act I was about to commit. In the eyes of the world, and indeed those of God himself, it was far worse than manslaughter.
My final thought as gravity pulled me toward the ground was not of my parents, nor was it of my own misery. No. I wished, with all my heart that I had once been like those aristocratic children with peers to play with. That was what I had longed for all my life.
It was sort of a funny realization, I thought, as I gave myself over to the wind and leaves. I felt my eyes close as though there were heavy weights glued to the lids. With my final breath, I whispered what was likely the most common phrase in this world.
“I’m…I’m sorry…”
