Winner Prompt Contest

CHS Prompt February 14: Your story can be about anything, so long as the protagonist dies at the end.

Every day, he would walk to the park to feed the pigeons.

It was a bad habit, yes, but it was something he had always wanted to do after he retired, and so he did, every day, for twenty-seven years now. It was calming, relaxing, in a way that he hadn't had before.

Today, as he entered the park, he saw a girl sitting on his usual bench. She was pretty, dressed in a pale blue sundress and sandals, a wide-brimmed straw hat covering dark hair and a pale face. She sat staring at the ground, hands in her lap, not looking up as he sat down beside her, placing his cane upright against the bench armrest beside him.

"Good afternoon," he said.

"Good afternoon," she quietly replied, voice so soft it was almost difficult to hear.

He opened his small brown bag, and cast a handful of the feed within it onto the cobbled walkway around the small fountain. A rapid fluttering sound announced the arrival of the first recipients of his generosity.

They sat in silence for several long moments, each watching the birds.

"It's a nice day, today," he said.

She looked up to the clear sky, the afternoon sun hovering to the west.

"Yes, it is," she replied, in that same soft voice.

"I enjoy days like this," he told her, shifting to lean back a little, before tossing another handful of feed into the cooing crowd in front of them. "It's not often that they come, it seems, anymore."

"Oh?" she questioned, politely.

"I'm sure they are not so rare as I think. It's just that, after a certain point, it feels as though all but a handful are too cold, or damp, or windy, and make your bones ache and creak as you try to walk about. Enjoy youth while you have it."

"How old are you, sir?"

"I'm ninety-two years old. In another month, I'll be ninety-three. It seems like only a few months ago that I was in my eighties. Time moves fast, when you're old. Enjoy youth while you have it."

They lapsed back into silence, watching the pigeons in front of them peck up the feed from the ground. He glanced at her from the side of his eye, and saw that as she watched the grey birds a small smile was gracing her face.

He offered her the bag, wincing slightly at the pull in his arm and chest.

"Would you like to throw them a bit?"

"Thank you," she responded, reaching a small, delicate hand into the bag, before tossing the contents in front of them, a wide arc of the small seeds briefly spreading in the wind before falling on the stone and scattering to the hungry birds.

Once more, they sat without talking for a long while.

"You know, I never really thought I would make it this long," he said at length. "My father died in his seventies, and my grandfather in his sixties. I've seen friends pass, family, and keep going, every year."

"I'm sorry," she told him. "Is it difficult?"

"A little less every time," he replied. "I suppose you get used to it, after a while, sad as it seems. I lost my wife fifteen years ago. That was the worst of it, I think."

"You must miss her terribly."

"Every day. But it will all be okay, because every day is another day that I come closer to seeing her again."

He smiled.

"You are ready to die?"

He laughed.

"I wouldn't say that anybody's 'ready,' but… I've lived a long, full life. I have no major regrets. I have a legacy, children, grandchildren, and their children. There have been hard times, but overall… I'd say it's been a good life. If it were to end today… I wouldn't be overly disappointed at running out of time."

"I'm glad," she told him, and looked up at him for the first time.

His breath caught in his throat.

Her eyes were black and empty… no… within them were points of light, like stars, shining against the backdrop of an infinite black universe, all contained within her eyes.

"I'm here to take you, now."

"Will it hurt?" he asked, only a little worried, more entranced as he looked into her eyes.

"No," she replied, a small smile gracing her face.

"When will it happen?" he asked.

"Remember when you offered me the feed?"

"I see."

She stood, offered him a slender hand, and he took it, standing without effort for the first time in years.

"Come along, David."

They walked from the bench, leaving his cane behind, as the sun began to fall below the horizon, the pigeons cooing softly.

THE END

Word count: 787