Six minutes...

Was that really all he had left? Three hundred sixty seconds? Well, less than that, now.

He looked into the eyes of his family, gathered around him atop the hill.

What was a man supposed to do in a situation like this? Pray? Meditate? Impart wisdom? Plan some last words? They'd have to be really special... You only got one chance at Last Words.

He thought for a moment. Two hundred seconds, now.

He nodded imperceptibly, straightened his back, and reached for a pair of scissors. With a confident, even snip, he pulled away a handful of hair and held it to the wind.

"Here and now," he pronounced, "I cast myself, my life, to the winds of the world."

He released the hair, and it scattered and separated, some gusting into the sky, some fluttering to the ground, and some coming to rest on the eyes of his children.

"You're so melodramatic, Dad," said his son.

"Sorry," he said. Then he died.


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bespectakate almost 11 years ago

Utterly beautiful

TimSevenhuysen (joined almost 11 years ago)
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I write 50-word stories at I post a story every weekday, with guest submissions featured on Mondays.

I enjoy writing all kinds of microfiction, and I love seeing what other people come up with.

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wind dead sorry die last words apology hair blow


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