Winner of the Scholastic Silver Key in Flash Fiction, 2020
The Sorrows of Marcel
The condition had now plagued Marcel for months. His once strong shoulders, keen insight, and rough arms were going with a cough. His lymph nodes would start swelling, and his varicose ulcer would start itching. Community leaders had congratulated his successes, but now, his body ached and he spoke to very few. The sheets that had not been hung for weeks, the surrounding patients groaning – Marcel missed the happy times with his children, telling tales and watching the bright sunrise on the grass next to their giant, warm castles; Marcel missed the smile of his wife, the woman who had sung through the night, sometimes disrupting neighbors. They were all dead. No longer did Marcel stare at the sunrise, no longer did he sleep soundly in the warm beds of his castles. Today, his vision was once again clouded, and only the sounds of the cries of others filled the building.
“You alright Marcel?”
Timo. His hospital buddy, who even at the darkest of times kept a smile on his face, was afflicted with the same disease.
“Can’t sleep?” Marcel’s focus shifted from the pitch-black ceiling to a large bulky man lighting a candle. Timo was always sweating, crushing rusty hospital beds, but always had a smile no matter the situation.
“You think we will ever get through this, Timo?” said Marcel.
“Never give up, that’s what mother always said. Remember the old days Marcel?”
“I remember that your mother never punished you like she did your brothers. Timo the family jester – recall the time when you ate all of the rabbit in the pot, and rather than whip you, she had your older brother go out and fetch another.”
Timo laughed, his body shaking the bed with sounds of metal cranking and tape peeling.
“This is not the first time they had to replace your bed Timo. You better be careful – we’re running out.”
This wasn’t the first time he had had this conversation. Everything was running out; Marcel had almost slipped out of reality: he thought that if he ate less, drank less, slept less, he would starve the disease, to possibly preserve himself, and if this was unsuccessful, find solace in the embrace of death. On the other hand, Timo continued cracking jokes, singing songs, and even taking up knitting for a change. Timo turned to the other side, reaching for the glass of water. Crash! Marcel flinched. No-one reacted; only a few sighed in anguish, too tired to get up. Marcel had the urge to scream, but he couldn’t find the voice in his throat, only thinking about how much had drained from Timo’s cup; that much more water he had now to save for tomorrow.
Timo gave up. “I hated that particular glass anyways, always too shiny at night.” The sound of liquid trickling on the cold hard floor was disrupted by the slight creak of the door at the end of the hallway.
In walked an old man with clouded spectacles holding a lit candle – nobody knew his name, as he was only there to clean and remove the filth of the hospital.
“Listen! I heard that someone is coming tomorrow with a cure! Can everyone go to sleep?!!”
“Thanks sir!” Timo beamed at the old man, as he turned with the other invalids’ approbation. The old man nodded, harrumphed and closed the door. Marcel expected nothing from the old man’s announcement.
“Timo, can you turn off the lights? I need sleep.”
“Really Marcel? Aren’t you happy with what the old man said? The antidote is coming, and by God’s faith it will! And I like the candlelight – it looks like the sunrise tonight. Sunrises are my favorite thing in this world. Don’t you think?”
Timo coughed, his complexion becoming paler. Marcel continued staring at the dark ceiling, his eyes unmoving.
“You know Marcel . . . you should smile more. I was frequently pushed around as a youngster, you saw it. Others would steal my food, trading my meats for their steamed vegetables, but I always ate those vegetables, knowing that momma’s got schnitzel. You should smile more. I never read the classics in my spare time and frequently sneaked out to watch bear baitings… . You should smile more. Even when I failed to find love while you had all the ladies, I still had my momma and her delightful cooking. You should smile more. Even when I lost momma, I still have you Marcel . . . I still have you.”
Marcel looked in Timo’s direction; his face was bronzed by the light, his nose sharply shadowing one side. Was he smiling? Marcel sighed, with much struggle; he blew out the candle and stared back at the ceiling.
***
The sunrise greeted the patients, some still waking and all soon waiting for morning grub. Marcel looked to the side and saw a man laying on his side, his face pale, his eyes red, and his breathing… still. But to Marcel, the man seemed to be having the time of his life with that bright long smile that ranged from cheek to cheek. Suddenly, the wooden door swung open, and the old janitor hurried in, beaming with a box. In the box, bright orange vials, reflecting the color of the sunrise, jingled.
“You’re right Timo, you always were! Yeah, Sunrises are the most beautiful things in this world.”
In the reflection of the vials was the face of a man: a man whose eyes shone with the sunrise; a man who smiled like never before. Marcel started in his bed, seeing a hundred tiny Timos in the box, and then looked back to his friend… and started again.