Time Ticking Away

Pressing his hands against the warm windowpane, he watched the world outside. He watched in wonder, the shafts of sunlight that streamed in through the  leaves of the banyan tree in front of his window. He watched the leaves as they twirled in mid-air and softly landed on the ground below. He closed his eyes and tried to commit it all to his memory. He stood there like that, for awhile.

Eventually he opened his eyes and was surprised to find a tear drop nestled at the corner of his right eye. He wiped it away and sighed. Holding on to his walking cane, he slowly made his way back to his bed. He sat down and lifted his leg and dropped them on to the mattress with a huff. This small task of helping himself back onto his bed tired him greatly and he felt exhausted and drained.

His eyes wandered about in the little room that was his sanctuary since the last few months. His eyes wandered to the frayed and battered copy of 'The Wuthering Heights' that laid on his bedside table. They, then, moved to the small, ticking clock that adorned the wall in front of him. He watched the clock ticking away and wondered, how many rounds the small hand would make before it eventually stopped. Before time eventually stopped for him. His eyes then flitted away and landed on the small glass case that was on his left. His eyes lingered on the numerous certificates and trophies, a reminder of his past life and a mockery of a future that will never be. He is reminded of the many nights that he had spent working towards a shining career. Burning through the midnight oil, his eyes pouring over pages while a fire burnt inside of him. Inching his way towards fulfilling his dream, his parents' dream; their dream. Only to find one day, that dream shattered and broken into a million pieces. His dream, his parents' dream-everything ruined by a series of phone calls from the doctor. The first phone call that told him that it wasn't a migraine that had him groaning in pain. And the subsequent phone calls that told him how the chemotherapy had failed and that he had, at the most, four more months to live.

He grew reclusive. He stopped returning phone calls and hardly ever stepped out of his room. He was envious of everyone. The next door neighbour, the maidservant and even his parents. He was jealous of them, the time they still had and wasted. He, on the other hand, had to watch the darkness that was slowly seeping in from all side and wait for death to finally snuff out his life.
He wasn't afraid of death any more. Death, no longer scared him. With a sigh, he closed his eyes and listened to the clock ticking away.