Struggle (The Hibernia Strain) by Albert Peterson Page B

easy to tell. His usual cool facade is crumbling. He’s just standing there and nodding, tears streaming down his dismayed face.
    We both know they have to go now otherwise they run the risk of getting caught up in more potential blasts.
    This isn’ t the time or place for sentimentality. I close my heavy eyelids.
    I won’t hold you up any longer .
    My life doesn’t race before my e yes as I’ve often heard depicted in stories of dying people who managed to come back from the brink.
    My only conscious thought is how I regret not realising sooner that life is too short to live burdened down with fears and insecuri ties. Life is too short and death is too permanent. That’s the kick in the teeth. If you don’t get it right the first time, there’s no second chance. I fear I’ve squandered mine and didn’t even know it.
    I feel Emma’s lips on mine, as soft as ever. The pain begins melting away to eventual numbness, as does everything else to silence, a subdued peaceful quiet.
    Hello Mum, Dad...
     
     
     
     

 
     
    To be continued...