Comments, whatever: Written just totally on the fly fora contest whose deadline was in a few hours from the time at which I started writing. And I'll say it right now: It's a one-shot people. The background is non-existent. It's in the moment. And it's not trying to prove anything.

The Song's Ending Now-

He doesn't say anything and he doesn't turn his eyes from the black and white his hands never seem to touch but I know he doesn't really need to look at the keys to play the song. It's not a sad melody, but I feel melancholy listening and watching him.

It's raining outside, but I'm not really surprised; it's always raining here and it drives me nuts. I lift my eyes to the window and the song he's playing speeds up, along with the shower of rain. It's an upbeat little tune, a cheery, sweet thing, but it makes me sad all the same. I feel like I should be happy with him. I feel like I should be ignoring the oxygen mask on his face and the tank that's hidden in the cute bag we decorated for it.

He's home now. With me. But that doesn't mean he's going to be okay. It just means he doesn't want to be in a hospital bed anymore. He doesn't want to look at me right now either, me sitting in the corner of our living room, against the wall on the carpeted floor, just behind him in his wheelchair. His grand piano takes up a large corner of the room.

He's still playing the song when he says, "Who will know that this meant anything to us at all?" His voice is hoarse and tired, but it's -his-, you know? So I ignore the exhaustion in it. I know he's worried, whether he admits it or not. He doesn't want to die. No one does. "Who's ever going to remember this?"

I stand and move over to him, watching him over his shoulder. He lets his hands play more slowly -the song is ending now, I think- as he turns to look at me finally.

"I will. I'll know," I tell him. "I'll remember it for the rest of the world." He smiles a little at me. He thinks I'm only 'just the sappiest man this side of the East Coast' but he looks grateful all the same. The song ends; I pull him into my arms, oxygen mask and all. We're both scared, but it doesn't matter. I kiss his pale forehead. Nothing has to matter, just now, and no one has to remember anything yet.

I wish they never will.