In The Event of Love Please Resuscitate

In The Event Of Love Please Resuscitate

My chest ticked like the engine of my first car, irregular and just barely. I had struggled through life gasping for air for forty years and had last decided enough was enough. Whilst alone, I would do what I had dreamt of doing so often, and feared far more. It was my time to go, and I wasn’t too disappointed.

I rested my hand on the oxygen bottle, my finger poised over the release valve. A single, swift flick of conviction whilst the sky reflected my mood and all my troubles would be over. My hesitation was my salvation.

She was new, well-dressed and bore a smile that steadied my breathing. Her eyes were brown, her hair black as oil, her skin like polished mahogany.

“Hello, I’m Francesca,” she said, busying into my room. “I’m your new nurse.”

Francesca offered a hand. I released the valve.

“Any last words before you get sick of me?” she giggled like a Caribbean tide tickling the sand.

“Please resuscitate,” my reply. And for the first time in forever, I meant it.

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