St. Elowen's Hospital.
In front of the windows on the second floor of this hospital, a majestic olive tree unfolded its splendor with grace.
A fourteen-your-old boy with a sickly complexion --silas grey --was diagnosed with a rare degenerative brain condition at 10.
It started subtly --like trouble with vision, balance,tiredness. By 12, he was using a wheel chair ,his motor skills fading .By 13, words were slower, but still filled with meaning.
'what a miserable life', silas sighed inwardly . He knew he was going to die. He would prefer to do it faster than agonize in this desolate place,but taking his own life was something he didn't want to do. After years of being here , it had become a challenge for him .He wanted to know how far he could live with his body on the verge of collapse.
Christmas, New Year,Thanksgiving--- all the time he had spent in this forsaken place , and to be honest, he was indifferent to it all.
Silas's parents didn't visit him often as they were busy with their jobs, dedicating the little time they had to their healthy siblingls. He , on the contrary ,was forgotten in the hospital.
They said they loved him , of course ,but love had often arrived in texts and voicemails, never in time. So silas grew used to silence. Used to waiting for people who wouldn't come .
On this day, there was no waiting left . The nurse held his hand --not because he asked, but because he never did. He never wanetd to be a burden, even now.
For many , silas's personality might seem boring , but none of the fools who could opine knew his situation.
The room was quiet, save for the slow beeping of the monitor and the soft hum of oxygen machine. Faint sunlight filterd through the half-down curtains, painting golden stripes across the white sheets.Silas grey , now 14 year-old, lay still , his thin frame barley rising with each breath. His skin is pale ,almost translucent.
he hadn't spoken much in the last few days. Words had grown heavy for him , but his eyes - still clear,still watching -- held a calmness.
He looked towrds the window one last time , the large olive tree beside it swaying with grace. Outside , the olive tree swayed in the breeze, it's leaves fluttering like the pages on the notebook he always kepts near, one page is fluttered open , like it wanted to be read . It was written in small, neat script across the middle of the page "I like the rain when it tapes on the window-- like it's asking to come in."
The moment settled. The nurse touched his hand , the kind that sounds like hope , and not sadness--but not sad.
Silas let go.
The monitor flatlined. The nurse bowed her head. He died the way he lived: quietly,gently,unnoticed by the world...but remembered by those few who really saw him.
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