'She's Dying'

Its a warm afternoon and Jason is lying in his bed, analysing tiny instances of his life. But what he soon comes to experience will shake him up for the better.
Never before has he received any piece of information so spectacularly and so hauntingly.

Jason stared out his bedroom window. The trees and street lamps outside weren't enough to hold his focus. He was looking beyond today, beyond his reality, beyond his youthful life. The pillow felt soft against his cold head. The door across his small room was shut. Even though he lived alone, a fully closed door often brought him an uncanny sense of security.

His now cloudy gaze was soon torn apart by a petite, sand-brown sparrow that flew past the sleeping trees to rest at his window sill. A cheerful chirrup erupted from its tiny beak. Its tiny head moved about wildly with a playful curiosity. It then hopped to a corner and remained still. Its concentration seemed to be intently focused on an area across the room.
As soon as realization struck him, Jason saw the bird fly away. He twisted over to study his faded military-green wall, dully adorned by nothing but a stopped clock. With the time reading three o'clock, Jason quickly resorted to his afternoon gazing.
He shuffled his feet. They were ice cold. He then curled up, fetal-like. Folding his hands under his arm pits for warmth, he breathed hard. The golden glaze of the sun outside made him tense. He was falling ill.
A light breeze entranced the blooming trees as they swayed in default unison.
The cold travelled to his chest. He hunched while a shiver rattled his body. The goosebumps on his hangs made his hair stand on end. Even his neck hair prickled. A second later, a door knock sounded.
He stopped breathing.
The sound of silence rushed to block his ears. It was faint, the sound. But he was sure of it. Someone had knocked.
Again.
He bit his lower lip. The sound was louder this time. He quickly began to let practical theories take over his mind. Perhaps the sound was heard from outside the house, or from the apartment above. Or maybe it was just his imagination.
A third knock.
He jumped around to face the ceiling, hands tight against his sides. He breathed harder now. Taking in freezing air, he released hot air.
This was definitely not his churned up thoughts, it was surely a..a..bang. It was real...this was actually happening..
All of a sudden, the seconds hand on the wooden clock across the room sprung to life, echoing through the quiet. Slowly and smoothly, he turned to look at the door for the first time since the knocking. His eyes dropped to the chipped, golden door knob. It started twisting. Slowly, then violently.
Back and forth, back and forth.
Jason whimpered. He swiftly dragged his feet to his chest as he sat up on the bed. Arms around his propped up knees, he breathed faster. Never before could he remember a time when his heart beat this fast. The door knob twisted and twisted until he he shut his eyes tightly, wincing.
It helped him breath slower now. He then finally flung open his eyes. They settled on the motionless door knob. The beats of his heart now drummed to the ticking of the clock. The time read three-twenty.
He let out a sigh of relief, then looked at the door again. He waited. Then a a crack tore through the silence, followed by the creaking of wood and then, the rusting door knob fell to the graying marble floor. A circle of dust and age-old dirt revealed itself around a tiny hole directly above the keyhole.

The door then swung open. Enough to reveal a sliver of the darkeness beyond. The knob on the other side of the door held for a few seconds, before it too, fell to the floor, rolling from side to side in semi-circles.
Jason crumpled his toes inwards and dug his nails into his skin until it hurt. He gritted his teeth for it to be over. But it wasnt so.
After staring intently into the darkness beyond the ajar door, his vision began to blur. He blinked several times until he realised the room had gotten colder.
Light whiffs of his breath fogged before his eyes. Partially mesmerised by this occurence, his focus shifted to what sounded like a whisper.
He looked at the door, then the walls around him, then the cupboard, the table, the stereo.
The voice sounded again.
This time, he tried to decipher words, but to no avail. He listened harder, until his gaze fell to the spot in front of him. He looked up.

"She's dying."

The End

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