Hi,

My first post on here, wrote this a  few years ago for another website and it's been sitting in my documents ever since....

 

Comments welcome but please be gentle lol

 

Time to Go

 

He glanced around, noting how miserable a day it was. The sky appeared full - grey clouds hanging ominously overhead, turning the sea a cold grey green, the waves rushing almost angrily towards the beach and then falling back as they had done since time immemorial. He anticipated a downpour at any moment, but shrugged off the thought – he had more pressing concerns. The town had been deserted as he’d wandered, apparently aimlessly, down to the seafront, but then again he mused, it was only ever busy during the tourist season – who was interested in an old fashioned seaside town in the middle of winter, apart from those poor souls who had the misfortune to actually live there?

Somewhat surprised (although on reflection, he supposed that this wasn’t entirely by accident, he always came here to mull things over in his head) he realised that he had made his way to his usual bench. He slumped down onto it, uncaring of the dampness soaking through his trousers, oblivious to the cold seeping through the thin material. His mind raced, thoughts skittering through his head like a thousand small animals, leaping this way and that, but always coming back to the same thought – three months! He only had three months left. He was the only one that knew as yet. He closed his eyes and tried to concentrate. He hadn’t really taken much of it in, it hadn’t quite sunk in yet he knew, but that one thought dominated all others, pushing its way to the forefront, much in the manner of a publicity seeking ‘D’ list celebrity – look at me, I’m here, you may not who I am, but you can’t ignore me, it’s me – I’m all you need to think about now.

Finally, he had control of his thoughts, thought that he had to plan for the next three months. He mentally began to compile a list of things to do, he had to make the most of the time that was left, not waste a minute, fill that time with the things that he enjoyed, disregard those that he had done over the years just to make others happy, be selfish, enjoy the little time left. He had always felt that things would never change, there was plenty of time to do everything, to experience everything he dreamed of, to achieve his life goals (whatever they were - he nearly smiled at that thought). Okay, where to start?

He had always loved football especially on warm spring days, the sun overhead standing cheering on the team, always being disappointed at a bad result, the pain of defeat seemingly never lessening over the years….but that was something that was beyond his power to contrive – it was the middle of November, he’d never see Spring again, never look around him in awe, seeing the trees slowly but inexorably reclaiming their greenery, his beloved garden bursting forth with life hidden by the cold winter months, never again would he plan each weekends tasks in the garden (maybe he could draw up a plan, week by week, and pass them onto his grandson, he’d actually quite like that, it would give a feeling of continuity, of something beyond death). Still, football – at least it was still the season; he’d squeeze in each and every game from now until…whenever.

Christmas would be strange, he thought, everybody would know by then he expected, no way to keep a secret this big from the family – he’d blow whatever he could afford on the kids and grandkids he supposed, trying to distract them from the cruel reality they would all be facing – he’d make light of it, as he always did, playing down (as far as possible!) the fact that this was the last Christmas he’d see – God, let them be right, let him see one more crisp Christmas morning, let him see the pleasure on the family’s faces as they unwrapped their presents and set forth on the annual binge of eating, drinking and making merry. He was damn sure it would be the best of everything this year. Best start planning now, he’d never been one to start Christmas shopping early but this year was slightly different.

He’d had his last birthday he realised suddenly, and sadly. He tried to remember what they had done – of course; it was a special birthday last year, a party in the local pub (after which a couple of the kids had experienced their first hangover, he recalled fondly) and all the family around for Sunday lunch. No more cards, no more excited looks on the kids faces as they handed over their presents, convinced that the pocket money presents were exactly what he wanted, almost bursting at the seams with anticipation as he slowly, oh so slowly, carefully unwrapped their gifts…..

He realised, at that moment, that it was true, he was dying and there was so much he would miss, things he took for granted, little things like a crack with his mates at the local, big things like family birthdays, marriages, births. A tear slowly formed, and rolled slowly down his cheek, its progress unnoticed in the torrential rain that had begun, unnoticed by him during his reminisces. Angrily brushing it away, he swore he would be strong, for himself, for his family and friends – life would go on, it always did, an individual is unimportant in the great scheme of things, save for those few who knew him personally.

He forced himself to stand, his legs weak, barely able to support him. Gathering himself together, resolve brought the strength back to his legs, the rain by now was torrential, soaking through his clothes, and he was uncomfortable, cold and wet. He bowed his head down, and began to make his way homewards, longing for a nice warm bath, to lie there soaking and making plans. He wishes he’d got a bus now, but this thought keeps him moving. That’s something else that he’ll miss, a simple bath –he smiles as he recalls how much he enjoys lying there, reading, a glass of wine to hand, and a constant trickle of steaming hot water keeping it warm. It’s a bit of a joke in the family, the length of time he spends in there.

Fishing out his keys, he grimaces at the dampness of his clothes, quickly opens the front door, and dashes upstairs to start his planning – only nineteen and his seemingly indestructible grandfather has chosen him to break the devastating news to the rest of the family. He feels sad but honoured that granddad told him first, it makes him feel grown up, responsible – granddad says that he has had a good innings, it had to happen, but he still can’t believe that by this time next year, granddad will be gone, a happy memory to treasure until he himself joins him in the heaven he knows awaits him. 

 

That's very good.  Very poignant.  Nice easy flow of words too. 

It needs some cleaning, a little bit to much repitition and some confusion regarding tense but still a very nice peice. I could help you edit it if you fancy.