Final Approach

By John-Paul Marciano

    I never saw it coming.  I didn’t hear anything.  No one said a word.  There was no warning, no alarm, no siren; only silence.  It’s not supposed to be like this.  Is it?

    I can see but only what is before me.  I can hear a soft wind gently blowing through the trees.  I can see the leaves gently flutter on the breeze.  I am not in total darkness.  There is light peeking through the canopy.  I can hear a bird sing but I cannot turn my head to see it.  It shouldn’t be like this.  Should it?

    The fresh smell of grass vies for dominance with the pungent aroma of soil.  I cannot see them but I know they are there.  I am parched.  My tongue sticks to my palate, but I cannot quench my thirst.  I try to move my arms but to no avail.  Likewise, my legs lay lifeless like two fallen trees.  I don’t understand what happened; they were working just a few minutes earlier.  Weren’t they?

    I wish to speak but I cannot.  If I could, would anyone hear me?  Better still, would anyone care to listen?  Maybe not, but that’s never stopped me before.  Why can’t I speak?  Where has my voice gone?

    I think I hear my heart beating.  I can’t tell it’s real or if it’s just in my mind. It really doesn’t matter.  Does it?

    I’m feeling cold now.  I wish someone would give me a blanket.  The light is fading.  Or is it just a cloud blocking the sun?  I can’t tell.

    I think the bird stopped singing.  Or did it just fly away?  I can no longer smell the grass.  The aroma faded away.  So too the scent of soil has faded to nothingness. 

    I think the wind has ceased.  I can no longer hear it blowing through the trees.  I no longer see the leaves flutter on the breeze.

    There is no music playing, no angels in the sky.  It’s only me with my waning thoughts as life just fades to black.

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