Spazoid's first short story, part one

As promised, here is my first attempt at a short story. For those of you who are expecting my usual graces of debauchery and low brow humour, I'm sorry to disappoint, this isn't like that at all. If you think reality T.V. is high quality programming, and Harlequin romance novels qualify as literature, you won't like this. There is very little swearing, sex, or violence. There are only two characters, both of them male. Most of the story is conversation.

If you are a deeply religious person who is offended at anything that might come close to criticism of religion, even a work of fiction, you'll probably send me hate letters after part two. If that's the case, save it, because I really don't care to hear it. I'll just delete it, or even better, post it on my site and mock your poor grammar, atrocious spelling, faulty logic and douchebaggyness in general. Remember, this is JUST A STORY.

I've only written part one so far. The rest has already been written in my head, and my head is a very noisy place. I think there will be two more parts, but there could be up to six. You never know how these things pan out.

Onto part one of Spazoid's first short story!

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Short Story, Part 1

He looked down at his friend, covered in protruding tubes and wires, lying silent and still in the bed. His once round friendly features were now drawn and gaunt, with dark circles under the eyes, looking more like a bleached skull than a human face. The top of his head, previously filled with a thick matt of wavy dark brown hair, was now bare and shiny, reflecting the stark white institutional fluorescent lighting. The only noises in the room were the blips and beeps of a bevy of machinery and flashing monitors that kept this man, his best friend, clinging to his very last thread of life.

He had known Gerald a very long time, since they were both barely out of diapers. When Gerald’s family had moved into house next door, they instantly hit it off. It was no wonder, since their neighborhood of simple, tiny box like bungalows was home mostly to retired people, or those who had grown children. Over the years, they had kept their friendship close. Gerald’s parents had died shortly before his fourteenth birthday, and without any other relatives to take him in, he convinced his parents to adopt him. Gerald became brother to him in name as well as in feeling.

When Gerald had gone off for his stint in the military, they wrote every month. He was the best man in his wedding, and he was the god father to all three of his children. He was there for all the major events in his life, and he had never forgotten the friendship and companionship Gerald had provided. He thought Gerald would be there forever, that he would have the best of friends and brothers until they were both old, addled, diaper wearing crotchety seniors.

Yet, here he was, looking down at his friend’s skeletal, cancer ridden body. At the tender age of thirty-two, he was just two young for God to take him from this earth! God works in mysterious ways; there was no doubt about it. Still, it just didn’t seem fair that this man, who was still barley more than a boy, should be cut down in the prime of his life. There was still so much for him to do! So much he had yet to experience, and he would never, ever get to fulfill any of the dreams and goals he had set for himself.

With a tear running down his cheek, Sam opened the bible he had been clutching to his chest. Looking at the monitors, Sam noticed that his friend’s heart rate had dipped to an almost unrealistically low number. His breathing was shallow and erratic, and he hadn’t twitched a muscle of what remained of his emaciated body in more than an hour. Sam cleared his throat and started reading the Lords Prayer, to prepare to send his friend, his brother, into Gods waiting hands.

Out of the corner of Sam’s eye, he caught movement. Gerald was awake, and with a feeble two finger wave, was trying to get his attention. Sam put down his bible, and clutched his friend’s cold, bony hand. “I’m here, my friend,” he said not being able to hold back the quiver of sorrow in his voice. Gerald mouthed the words “come closer.” Sam put his ear right up to Gerald’s mouth, to be able to hear his weak friend’s final words.

“You douchebag geeb,” Gerald croaked, “You know I don’t go in for that religious mumbo jumbo.”

Sam looked at his friend and smiled. “You’re a Funny man to the last, eh? Even on your deathbed you dismiss my religion and call me the childhood taunt I loved ever so much!”

“You’re the only person I know who qualifies as a geek and a dweeb, shithead,” came the whispered and barely audible reply “And after that stunt you pulled in eight grade history class, you deserve it. As a matter of fact, I’ve put it in my will to have Shelly call you geeb at all times during lovemaking.”

Sam smiled, and cradled his friends head in his hand. He didn’t notice the tears streaming down his face, as he felt his friend getting weaker and weaker, slipping away as they spoke.

“Please Gerald, let me finish the lords prayer for you,” Sam said in a pleading tone “I want to meet you in heaven some day. Let me pray for you, please, please let Jesus into your heart! It’s not too late, it’s never too late!”

Gerald mustered his last remaining strength and murmured “We’ve had this conversation for decades, Sam. You already know that I believe in your god as much as I believe in everyone else’s. Why do we have to rehash this now?”

“Because you’re dying!” cried Sam “and I want my best friend to live! Live with God! I want to see you again!”

Gerald weakly grabbed the back of his friends head and drew him closer “If I can, I – I,” His hand dropped from Sam’s head and he slumped back down into his bed. His eyes fluttered open and he began to speak again. “I’ll make you this promise Sam, and it’s a promise I’ll keep if there is any possible way I can.”

Sam leaned in close to his Gerald “What is it, my friend?”

“I’ll come back and tell you what’s on the other side” came a mumbled, garbled reply.”

Sam’s face fell. He knew in his heart that his dearest friend would not come back, that he would never see him in God’s kingdom. He had tried for years to get his dearest companion to change his atheist ways, to no effect. He felt as if he had failed him in the one thing that mattered most; but this was Gerald’s decision.

Sam gathered Gerald up in his arms and held him close. “I love you, you damned jackass,” he said softly, his tears wetting the top of Gerald’s bald head. “I’ll miss you.”

“Give Shelly and the kids a hug for me, geeb,” was the strained, burdened reply.

And then is friend was gone. He felt his breathing become shallow, slow, and then stop, and Gerald went limp in his arms. The constant monotone noise from the heart monitor alerted the nearby nurse, who picked up the phone and screamed for a crash cart. The room became a flurry of activity, but it was all to no avail; the CPR, the defibrillator, nothing started Geralds heart. He was simply too far gone, too weak, too physically deteriorated to keep up the good fight any longer.

Gerald was no more.

Sam slumped in his chair, buried his face in his hands, and shed bloody tears of this ultimate sorrow. A nearby nurse placed a comforting hand on his shoulder, and he immediately shrugged it off. He did not want to be comforted. There was no comfort that could take away the stinging pain of this loss. His friend, his brother, his confidant, the only person on God’s green earth that truly understood him, that he could truly count on, was gone, and he would never see him again.

It wasn’t long before the doctors wheeled his friend’s limp, lifeless body into the morgue. After making arrangements to meet with a mortician to finalize the funeral plans, an exhausted Sam gathered up Gerald’s clothing and possessions into a small suitcase and headed for home.

Sam left the hospital, numb with shock, barley caring about the people and cars buzzing around him. It was all too surreal. He was angry at the fact that people could carry on with their daily lives, not knowing, not caring that Gerald was gone. He was livid that the world didn’t stop to mourn with him. Gerald deserved nothing less.

He arrived at home, got out of his car, and with Gerald’s suitcase in hand, slowly walked up his porch steps to his front door, dragging his drained feet with every step. He opened the door and stepped inside, his tired eyes not able to gaze higher than his shoes.

A familiar voice broke him out of his daze and snapped his head up and to attention, his eyes wide with shock and amazement.

“A promise is a promise,” said Gerald, “and I always keep my promises.”