First Drafts - The Great Game

It was not always a losing game. Or so we fooled ourselves into thinking.

This evening, two minutes shy of seven, whoever it is we are playing against -- Fate, or God, or the Grim Reaper or whatever name it nods to -- slapped its hand down on the table, and cried, "Mine!"

And so we had to let him go.

He went. Out, slowly, like a starved flame. Choking, little by little. Fighting all the way. Smiling as long as he could.

Everyone tires, even the noblest of us. Even at thirty-three.

His hand, which even the previous morning had raised a thumbs up, lay inert, scarred gloriously from his battle.

Our stakes were stacked high. Last night, atheists among us had mouthed prayers. Panting against destiny's steep gradient, we had let fly a hope.

Secretly.

Furtively.

Naively.

Hoping, just hoping it would work. Hoping we could trade a minute of our life for his. Hoping he could pull off one of those climactic twists he often wrote about.

Maybe another time. Maybe another game.

It's not over yet. As I write, I hear the shuffling of cards. Its appetite whetted by one more success, it's getting ready for another round.

It's only a matter of time.

Call me a pessimist. A doomsayer. But I know the flavour of this terror. I have seen it bite into flesh too close to mine. I have seen it erase forebears from my family tree. I have fought it, run away from it, then resigned to it.

Forgive me for being afraid, for having no words where words seem like useless homilies. I am not made to craft condolences. The obituaries I write are effete.

I only know this much: this is no time for fear.

Shuffle me a deck. Let me take my place at the table.

And you, dear friend, wherever you might have wandered, may you not be alone. May you be freed from the pain of your battered body. Our thoughts will seek you out, and give you comfort just as thinking of you lights up our eyes with remembered fondness. May you find comfort and warmth and laughter again, as you scattered them among us.

Let your soul be your pilot.