The boy became restless as the clock ticked forward heralding the approach of ‘the hour’. He was becoming impatient as time refused to fly like always
He was on the verge of sleeping when, like welcome melody, came from the old clock tower six resonating dings. With an unearthly flutter of wings, a great host of pigeons alighted on the roof of the mansion. The sight looked creepy in the fading lights of the setting sun.
Almost instantly the boy heard the familiar sound of tyre screeches on a stony path – his parents were finally gone and he had the whole house to himself.
His nerves began tingling with anticipation and fear and his heart beat furiously. Body trembling, he tiptoed out of the white sterility of his room, which resembled a makeshift hospital room.
Descending the stairs with utmost care, he thought over and over about his decision. He felt confident and determined.
His eyes shone sadly yet his pale ethereal face reflected intense determination. His body once athletic was now frail and fragile. He barely had the strength to stand up. Creeping noiselessly he entered the kitchen and opening a drawer he located the item he had been looking for. Contented, he smiled.
Mission accomplished.
The ascent up the stairs was the toughest part. Mustering all strength and with an enormous effort, he managed to climb back up and walk to his room and slip under the white bed sheets which smelled of a hospital.
The sun had not set yet. It hung in the sky just above the horizon glowing an eerie red. The rays seemed to be dripping blood as it fell on the sad face of the boy. The face once happy and full of life was now white and wraithlike. In those big sunken eyes one could feel the sorrow of the world.
The final part of the plan was quite simple. The steel shone in the red rays of the sinking sun and then dripped red in blood. The knife was indeed sharp and it made a deep gash in the thin weak hands of the boy with minimum effort.
Blood rushed out – the red stream was so eager to be freed from the body after thirteen long years of confinement. How it sparkled and flowed as it drenched the whit bed! The blood kept flowing without the least signs of slowing down.
“Just as the doctor had said”, the boy thought. Last night he had heard what he was not supposed to. “I am afraid your son has got haemophilia Mr. Baschov. He’ll bleed to death even with a minor cut”, the doctor had explained.
The excruciating pain now spreading through the body becoming unbearable was nothing compared to the sense of freedom the boy was feeling as one by one all bonds with the world was being severed.
He gladly welcomed the final sleepy feeling…
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