“I have been waiting for you.” He said.
White as the sheets on which he laid. Beckoning me to lean over by him, he kissed my forehead with pained lips.
“I love you, son.”
He was agitated so I handed him his Bible.
“My favorite book.” He said - his last, coherent words were “ my favorite book”.
I remembered Psalm 23; I sang hymns that I didn’t know I remembered. Blood trickling out of his every part. I sang even more.
One last heaving breath…
I’ll see you soon.
And I shall dwell in the House of the Lord Forever
About the Creator
j.d. davis
Seeker. Thinker. Melancholy. Conflicted believer. Evolving human. Bipolar being. And sometimes I use bad words.
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The Dryads are Calling
They say the forest by Phoenix River sings. Perhaps it is just the wind howling through the leaves, or a particular birdsong. But Percy Fisher knows better; he knows what lies in those woods, and he knows that the forest sings of his demise.
By Leigh Hooperabout 13 hours ago in Fiction
Comments (1)
This was very sad and well written.