Fiction: Group 4
over and saw once again, the very river he had often laid eyes upon. And not only that, a bench to sit
on.
That dreaded loud guttural sound escaped his throat again and feeling it, he strode toward the bench
with great strength.
If he couldn't die at home, he would die at some place even more familiar and close. He thrust one leg onto
the ground in front and trudged, each step taking every ounce of effort left in his body. Finally, with the
sound escaping his throat once more, he sat down, relaxed on the bench, and laid his eyes towards the great
river.
Its beauty long gone, but its presence still there for him.
As he continued looking, his strength faded slowly and was replaced with exhaustion, and not only that, he
felt what was left of him slipping away as well. It would only be time before he would fall into the darkness
again and never return, unlike other times he went into the darkness to rest, but this one, would be the last,
and death's grasp would fully envelop him.
When he was gone for good, nothing would be left, nothing that would somehow make his home lively
ever again. Nothing at all.
But he would make those moments meaningful with whatever strength he had to make do with. He
thought, with memories filling his head, thinking of when his father would take him by the river and to
distant places, of when his mother and father passed, and he too, became a father, and how his children
would grow up into adults.
Yet, when things became bad, and everyone would flee, leaving nothing but
dead silence. Even his children left, leaving only him and his dog, who was loyal enough to die by his side.
He always wondered what did happen to his children who tried to flee, what had fallen upon their homes
and did this also fall upon the rest of the world as well. But even if they were no longer around, having
succumbed despite trying hard to flee, he would be with them once more.
As the darkness fell over him, he could feel their presence, and he would be with them once more.
