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Rated: ASR · Short Story · Emotional · #2233087
An Entry for Quotation Inspiration Contest





An autumn leaf glided in the breeze for a while and then sank to the bottom of the nearby tree. It landed toward the bench where a man was sitting alone. The leaf rustled on his hand. He felt as if an angel had placed a hand on his to show sympathy to him. He could cast a sorrow look to the leaf and then he picked up the leaf and brought nearer to his eyes.


You're dead and I'm going to die. He sighed.


Fixed his eyes on the leaf, he again drowned in his thoughts. How much time elapsed, he could not realize. Then some children came, playing near to him with giggle and cackle that interrupted his thoughts and he looked nearby in the park. He looked up in the sky. The sun was going to set in around one hour's time.


How many days would I live? He ruminated. Can I survive a brain tumor?


Now I would have to hand over my all projects to Susane and George and I would need a week to make them understand these projects.


We would have to postpone our trip to Hawaii. Lisa, my wife, would be offended. She was so excited about this trip.


Nancy, my daughter, has the final exams next week.


I promised my father to celebrate Christmas together this year. He would wait for me and miss me a lot.


My friend Sehgal was so angry with me for my stupid prank on his wife's birthday. I would really have to apologize to him for what I did.


The dying process begins the minute we are born. Our life counts down to death.



"Harry...Harry!" An indistinct voice.


Perhaps a woman was yelling. The voice went on louder as the lady came nearer to him.


Very similar voice! Lisa yells just like that! He wondered without looking at the lady.


The lady came running to him and fell on him.


"Ugghh..."


"Harry ... Harry," She held his face in her both hands


"Lisa, you!"


"Harry, it was not your medical report." She stammered. "That was another Harry Smith, your namesake."


"Look... this is your report.... this is your contact number...this is our home address." She showed a badly crumpled paper to him.


"Honey, you don't have a brain tumor," she exclaimed.


Harry's eyes were exploring her red face, tearful eyes, and rumpled hair.


"I... I don't...have..."


"Yes, you don't have a brain tumor."


"Thanks, God!"


He hugged her tight with the weeping happiness.





Wordcount = 417





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