The Grim Reaper

David grimaced and ran a hand over his hair. He’d recently shaved it, a number two blade, a concession to the incipient balding. The regrowth felt soft under his fingers, like moleskin, comforting. Since the crop he noticed he was doing this, touching his hair, more often. Doing so had become a release, a comfort blanket he couldn’t be separated from.

He took a deep breath and entered the room. Collected himself, tried to appear calm and professional when inside he felt anything but. The woman, the mother, was seated on the far side of the bed squeezed right up against the wall. It seemed as though she had picked that side on purpose. The tight fit swaddling her, protecting her from the alien buzzing and beeping. The mechanical suck and hiss of the artificial respirator all that was keeping the boy, her son, alive.

She was dozing, her body slumped forwards in the chair, hand still loosely holding the echo of her hand. He so wanted to turn around and walk away, to leave the room, shrug off his professional mantle, set aside his scythe. Give them a little more time. Alive, together. Instead he cleared his throat loudly. The woman started, awake. For a moment their eyes connected, he saw her hope, her plea for salvation, her desire to cast him in another role, one far easier to perform.

He took a few steps closer, his feet leaden, his heart pounding inside his chest. Insultingly vigorous. He reached down for the foot of the bed, bracing himself.

‘I’m afraid it’s bad news. The scans confirm his brain is unresponsive. The ventilator is all that is keeping Tommy alive.’

She was staring at him, speechless. Her eyes, red raw mascara smudges camouflaging her cheek. Desperate he waded on.

‘There’s nothing more we can do. It’s time to turn the machines off. Do you have any questions?’

For a moment she didn’t speak. She looked into him. He felt sure she could see his heart, coveting its every beat.

‘When?’

‘I’ll give you a few minutes.’

‘No, no, I’ll do it now. Just let me say goodbye.’

Embarrassed by her strength, her resolve he turned. Rain was beating against the window. The blinds caught and rattled by the force of the wind. He looked at the drops trailing down the glass, somehow the weather seemed right. More fitting than the eerie calm in the room. He looked back at the mother. She nodded. David stepped around the bed to the stand with the ventilator, hesitated and switched the power off. One last hiss and it was silent. He turned off the heart monitor. Silence. Nothing. The sound of death filled the room. He walked towards the door, pulling it softly shut behind him. Outside Andrew, a more senior colleague was waiting. He looked at David and smiled a crooked smile.

‘It gets better. The first one’s always the worst.’ He said, clapping David on the back, taking the scythe from his hand.