“FINAL TURN”
Brakes don’t usually give out this soon, was the last thought he had about his car before he died.
His gloves tightened on the wheel, not out of panic, but resolve. He was easily several paces in front of second place, so there was no danger to another driver because of what was about to happen to him and this poor guard rail.
Regret isn’t the right word for what followed, neither is reminiscing. It was as if he was actually transported; his wife’s skin felt just as real in that moment as it had the first time he touched her. He felt it closer than those gloves, felt the warmth pulse in his palm, felt the treasure and gentleness and the being touched back. Having hands on each other was infinitely better than the sum of its parts.
Next— no, it wasn’t guilt. It was as if he saw things he hadn’t seen before. How stupid it was to say words he didn’t mean to her and claw, stab, and shout his way to be the momentary master of his sad little corner—
No sooner had he felt pity than did his daughter’s laugh ring loud in his ear. What engine? That was her roar, her rapturous, trance-shattering, train-of-thought-wrecking smile-made-audible. And under it was a stubbornness he decided early on not to tame. He was almost sorry for having raised someone with such a courageous will.
Had he done enough to show his sons the way? Had his bravery been enough? Had his weakness? They would have to reap what he sowed and then use it to sow again. He knew in truth they would grow on beyond his blaze, and become the men that he wished he was.
In this speeding capsule of screams and shakes, he felt alive. He didn’t want to stop it, not that he could. His life was meant for motion, and death in motion somehow felt more right than life without it. And it was now he wished he could grab his son by the shoulders, kiss the top of his shaggy and fast-growing head, and tell him: it never makes sense, and it’s not your fault. Your life is designed to move, not to be biopsied. It can’t be stopped, it can’t be frozen; it will not come to you in photos. Don’t waste your one shot in this glorious tornado trying to make it “just so.” The worst risk you can take is not taking any for the sake of preservation. I was always proud of you. Be not afraid.
And with his wife’s hands under his, he spoke. If I had a thousand lives, I’d spend them all with you. I’ll be there–
Author’s Note
This was my first complete attempt at a writing style called Flash Fiction. The goal is to tell a complete narrative in under 600 words. My roommate inspired me to try it out, and I experienced a lot of meaning doing it. This topic in particular was a rich way for me to pre-emptively reflect on my final moments, and even more so consider the final earthly moments of people I’ve loved who have moved on from this life. Thank you for reading it.