Freedom In Death

Despite his protests, Tom Smith was rolled into the garden of the retirement community. The orderly pushing his wheelchair had insisted he needed fresh air.

“Now there Mr. Smith, ain’t this a pretty site?” Bob, the ignorant staff member, remarked.

“Humph,” Tom said as he turned his head slightly to the side, barely glancing up at Bob.”I’d rather be inside reading.”

Bob looked down at the frail old man, looking at him as though he was trying to picture him younger. Once in a great while Tom would share his experiences and of his travels. It was amazing that one person traveled so many different places in one lifetime.

“Well, if you need anything, just flag me over. I’ll just be on the other side of the garden.” Bob said, turning to leave the old man to his memories.

The garden really was beautiful, to those who liked flowers and such. Tom guessed there must be at least a hundred different varieties, all of which he hated. Especially that one sunflower, whose petals rested over the fence that spanned the property. It mocked him, as if to say “Look, I’m outside and you are not!”. He scowled at the entire garden, wishing he could retreat to his room. 

He did not hate the flowers or the fresh air, but rather the institution itself. Tom felt like a prisoner here, bounded by his own body and mind. He had always imagined his death would be something spectacular, such as a hang-gliding accident or a fall of the cliff of a mountain. Never would he have imaged wasting away here in this monotonous place.

His mind began to wander as he gazed out at the garden, memories his only escape. Having visited nearly every country in the world, he could travel to nearly any place he desired just by closing his eyes and remembering the past.

Today he was in the Netherlands, gazing up at a windmill. This country was one of his favorites, and he was never quite sure why. Perhaps it was the air, the temperatures, or the countryside. Although there was never one particular aspect of the country that he valued the most. Rather, it was the environment as a whole he preferred.

The sound of a cawing crow brought Tom out of his fantasy, forcing him to open his eyes. Normally he would be annoyed with distraction such as this, but seeing the type of bird perched on the metal fence made him smile. These particular feathered friends were seen as beautiful to Tom. Their sleek, black feathers made them seem ominous, yet they held no danger. He felt a certain connection to the crows, yet at the same time he was jealous of them.

While Tom was seen as nothing more than a grouch by the staff, he was really just extremely dissatisfied with his current life. He longed to be free, soaring the skies with the crow, a black shadow of mystery. He meant no harm to anyone - he simply wanted to be free to live his life as he saw fit, just as the crow.

The crow tilted its head, eying Tom curiously. It seemed to know of his aching heart. Tom watched him as he flew to the top of the building of the cold retirement home. It was there he saw something else in the sky, as if the crow was trying to show him a way out of his misery.

At first he dismissed the blemish in the sky as a gray cloud, knowing his eyesight was fading with age. But then the gray blotch moved in odd forms, rising and slithering upward into the sky. This wasn’t a cloud. It was smoke!

Tom wasn’t the only one to notice the smoke rising from the building. Staff members began to scramble and a siren began to wail shortly after. It was mass chaos as all residents were being hustled outside.

Fire licked the outer walls of the home from windows and doors, spreading out of control in a matter of minutes. Tom watched with strange interest as his prison was quickly being destroyed. Although he knew another one waited for him, and his freedom would not come this easy.

Assessing the situation, he knew of only one way to end his torment. If he entered the building, facing his demon head on, he would perish. Yet that same act would free him.

I chose the freedom that comes from death.

Moving out of the garden and around the building, he looked around for watching staff. Nobody seemed to notice Tom inching toward the door. Without thinking twice, he made a swift move - as swift as an 80-year-old man can be, that is - and entered the burning building.

Flames danced around him in a strange ritual of his impending demise. He inhaled the smoke, taking in the welcome breath of death. It made him cough violently, yet it tasted sweet. There was little suffering as Tom closed his eyes and smiled, alone with his last thoughts.

Finally, I am free.


Word Count: 855