Death Anxiety by James Ward Kirk

Author:James Ward Kirk
Language: eng
Format: azw3
Publisher: Radiation Sickness Books
Published: 2014-10-01T04:00:00+00:00

Upon awakening, he discovered a hospital setting, and wondered why in the hell he was in a hospital.

He noticed his hands were gone.

White and clean bandages covered the stumps. He raised his arms, turning them. He put his arms down at his sides, flexing the muscles designed to operate the fingers, or open and close his hands. The bastards took my hands, but they didn’t cut out my heart. My mind is still alive. They should have killed me. They made a mistake. I will keep those muscles exercised.

Once again, slumber overcame him.

Upon his next awakening, the male nurse told him he slept for eight days. “It was more merciful,” the nurse said. “The pain is gone now.”

Joe considered it: the nurse knew, the pain gone.

Two days later, they sent Joe home.

He thought about cleaning his apartment. Dirt and dust collected in depth during his absence. Instead, he went to his green chair, sat down and fell asleep. When he awoke, the sun disappeared and the night wind blew dirt off the ledge outside his window. He stood, walked to the small kitchen. There, he took some bread from his pantry. He saw the pantry stocked. He drew some water from the tap, then returned to his chair and ate his meal.

Joe cleaned his apartment. The Church took all writings, his pencil and photo albums. He scrubbed everywhere, awkwardly using his wrists to grip, moving furniture, changing light bulbs. His stumps ached when finished, but he didn’t care. Pain proved life. He turned the lights off and retired for the evening.

In his sleep, in his dream, he felt the weight of his wife’s body beside him. He dreamed he moved closer, whispering, “You’re so warm, and I’m so cold.”

“I love you, Joe Jones.”

Joe heard the words: they were real. He opened his eyes. Mrs. People lay close to him, snuggling; he could feel her breath on his cheek. “I love you to, Mrs. Peoples.”

“I think it’s okay if you call me Kate. We seem to know each other pretty well.” She smiled at him in the dark.

Joe cried. When he stopped crying, he told her what happened.

“Joe, I want to be your hands. I have memories too.”

She held him tightly. They made love, Joe falling asleep again; so tired. When he awoke, Kate was gone. He felt secure about her return.

He thought about what it might be like being married again.

Joe went to church occasionally. He believed he must. He did claim illness from time to time. After all, he was an old man with no hands.

Joe, sitting in front of his window one Sunday about three months after their marriage, heard the door open.

“Hello, Kate. I’m glad your home,” he said, watching the people on the street intently, not looking over his shoulder at her.

“Joe, I brought someone home with me. I met her at church today.” Joe’s heart quickened. Whom could they trust to bring into their home? He turned.

“Hello, Joe.” It was Venus, dressed in a yellow jumpsuit, designed for women available for marriage.

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