The Final Gasp

Vonta stood staring out the window of her Green side manor, feeling its hollowness, now more than ever. She always knew she would grow old and brittle and would do it alone. It wasn’t from a lack of options; she had plenty through the long, hard years that she fancied and that fancied her. Hells, even Castio, who lived down the street, gave her more than friendly winks, and he was five years older than she. “Even after eighty years piled up on that man, he still has the drive of an Ox. He has to have great genes, at least better than mine… Anyway, having someone else around would interrupt my reading time. And I’d never be able to keep up with him anyway, especially now.” She sipped her wine; it was a good year for her. She had just turned twenty-one, got her first job as a teacher, and declined her third marriage proposal just that year. She wanted to save the bottle for a more momentous occasion, her eightieth maybe. But instead, she was dying, so every day was momentous.

There was an eerie calm this night. She had been down alleys in downtown Richmond; she had even been in the house of Vincent Harris himself, but this sent a chill down her spine like she had never felt before. This was her home, on the Green side of town, where things were supposed to be safe and protected. Yet still, as she watched out the window into the pitch dark of night, the last street light was too far down the road to illuminate her yard. She couldn’t help but feel that there was another presence with her tonight. “I had heard some say that on your last night, you can feel the presence of Death themselves.” She looked over to the bottle of wine. ‘One glass a night,’ that’s all she was allowed. “How drinking wine will affect my lungs, I’ll never know.” The bottle had at least two, if not three, more glasses left. “If it really is going to be the last one. I should enjoy it.” She said with a devilish smile, one that would scare most of her students. Not the ones who had gotten to know her; they would’ve seen that it was simply a cunning smile, a scheming smile, one that she got as she thought of an extra tricky test question or some clever punishment for the less respectful students; the ones that needed to be taught a lesson.

With her second glass poured, she stared out the window again, swirling it absent-mindedly as her mind jumped from thought to thought. Many of her students thought her to be some ‘crazy cat lady,’ some spinster jaded beyond reason. “I am perfectly reasonable; it’s those empty-headed adolescents who are beyond reason.” And though she always did tend to like animals, even people, most of the time, she never was one to collect them. There was Rascal – the five-toed feline that came and went through the basement window, but she never truly had a pet. “Much less dozens of them.” No, it was just her and always had been. “But I’m fine with it.” She looked around her large living room, following the familiar wood grains from floor to ceiling, passing over her sparse furniture and full bookshelves. “Aren’t I?” The undrunk glass of wine weighed heavier in her hand, so she placed it on the table next to her. “I wonder if Rascal ever ended up showing up.” She turned and made her way to the basement door down the left hall.

With the pull of a cord, the stairwell and basement lit up. There was the steady breeze coming from the open window, bringing with it the earthy smell of the surrounding Oak trees that were so prominent in this area. Walking across the unfinished wood floors, she made it to the rocky wall that held the small window. More than once, she had had to slip through that window, many times sneaking back in after curfew when this was still her parents’ house. But she was neither that nimble nor reckless anymore. Once, she had locked herself out of the house and had to slide in through it. She had a scar up her right thigh from cutting it on the rock, and her knees hurt for weeks after landing that seven-foot drop. She double-checked she had her keys every time before leaving the house.

Vonta hadn’t tripped down the stairs, nor was her stroll across the room impeded by a ball of fur coursing between her feet. “That’s odd.” She tapped the full bowl of dried food mixed with some tuna with her foot. None of it was missing since she had replaced it this afternoon. The grandfather clock in the living room chimed, snapping her back from her far-off stare out the window. With a shrug, she made her way up the stairs once more, giving a longing, worried gaze at the bowl of food one more time before switching off the light. “Well, it’s better I don’t breathe in all his dandruff anyway.” She told herself closing and latching the basement door behind her. “But I’ll replace the bowl in the morning, just in case.” She tried shaking the idea of having Death looming over her and headed back to the living room.

“What good was a god of death anyway?” She had never been one to put much faith in the gods. Maybe because she didn’t like the idea of never being truly alone, or because it seemed wrong to be such a being and not help those in need – to let people suffer in your lands just because you couldn’t be bothered.

Her chest tightened, and she coughed, starting dry but turning wet as her whole body convulsed and she was forced to hunch over. Her knees weakened as air only left her body, unable to take a breath as the fit forced her lungs tighter and tighter. Stumbling, she made it to the center of the room, where a small red and green disc was on her buffet. She lifted the mouthpiece of the disc to her, and with each tiny breath in, she could manage between coughs, and she was able to pull in some of the vapor from the inhaler. It stung, almost burnt, making her eyes water as it passed the torn lining of her throat, but with each tiny inhale, the feeling was pulled deeper and deeper until, finally, it cooled her lungs, and she was able to take a full breath of the tingling vapor.

Looking down at the counter on the cartridge, she saw that it still had fifteen uses left. She wasn’t sure how many she had just used, but she was sure it was enough till she could get a new one in the morning. With clenched teeth, she wiped her mouth with a handkerchief. Waves of burning pain tightened her fist with each swallow, and there was a dull ache with each breath. But she was still alive, and, despite the pain, that was a cause for a sigh of relief. She wanted nothing more than to down the rest of her wine, but she decided against it for multiple reasons. Instead, she made her way to the kitchen, still mostly out of breath and feeling like an extra hundred pounds.

The cool water was a painful relief for her throat. Sometimes, she wondered, even wished, she could breathe it in and let it wash out her lungs. “Wou.ld. it…” even help? She sighed, blinking away the tears caused by the strain in her throat. Exhausted, she made her way back to the living room, checking the basement door on the way. There were no tiny five-toed scratches, so she moved on through the living room, down the right hall to her room. Flicking a switch just outside her bedroom plunged the whole house into darkness. A small plugin nightlight cast all too familiar shadows around the only room she had ever called hers. Even today, twenty years after their passing, it still felt too uncomfortable to move into her parents’ room even though it was twice the size and had its own bathroom. “It just wasn’t right.” Her voice was still creaky, but at least she could speak again.

It always helped her to fill the home’s hollowness with just a few spoken words from time to time. She had once played radios in every room of the house, but it only increased her paranoia – being unable to hear if anyone else was in the house. Instead, she settled on the echoes of her own voice. “Maybe…” She pushed the thought away just as it came to the front of her mind. “I am fine alone. Being with someone will only get in the way.” She clenched her eyes tight as she swallowed.

This was how it was supposed to be. This is what she was happy with. She was on her own time, doing what she wanted, and did not have to worry about anyone interfering. There was nothing else she could ask for. She lay in the center of her cold bed, looked to each side, and scooted closer to the nightlight. “The bed does have room for two…” She walked through the house in her mind; she knew every nook and twist. And then, she imagines someone else in the house with her. The house was plenty big enough that she could easily be undisturbed in one room while they were in another. Plus, if it was Castio, he was always out hiking and hunting anyway. So she’d still have days without any disturbance. And, maybe, since she didn’t have to deal with students all day anymore.

Ever since the school suggested she resign due to her coughing fits getting so bad it ‘worried the students.’ So, maybe she’d have more patience for someone else in the house. “I mean, I could at least try it.” She shrugged to herself. Castio would be at the Post tomorrow. “I’ll just ask what he is doing for the rest of the day. Or, say, maybe, dinner?” She rolled on her side, taking up her normal half of the bed, and faded off with a smile. “I’ll start by asking for a tea. For my throat, of course.”

*****

Vonta woke up with a vigor she hadn’t had in a long time. Beginning her day with only a small coughing fit, she flung open her curtains to let the dazzling glow of the rising sun in. The leaves of the Oak trees swayed in a gentle breeze as the birds searched her yard for worms, ticks, and the like. As all things should be. If she hurried, she might even beat Castio to the Post and order his usual for him. Exiting her room, she turned right and headed for the bathroom. There was a tingle in the air, something truly rejuvenating. She took a quick shower. She had washed her hair the day before, so there was no reason to waste the time today. After which, she put on a light layer of makeup, just enough to even out the bags under her eyes. Staring at herself in the mirror, she felt like she was getting ready for prom all over again. The grandfather clock chimed, helping her realize she was running behind. In a hurry, she tossed her powder puff back in its case, kicking up a small but potent plume.

No, no. She held her breath as the powdery plume dispersed through the air. She exited the bathroom and closed the door before her day was ruined before it even started. She was even sure to give a slow exhale out as to not cause too much of a disturbance in her delicate lungs. With a smile of triumph, she made her way to the kitchen. Within two steps, something tangled up her feet, and she dropped to her knee, causing pain to radiate up and making her inhale through clenched teeth. Rascal scurried off down the hall in fear, kicking up dust and his own hair along the way. Vonta felt her lungs twitch, once. No. Twice. No. But she couldn’t contain it; the coughing fit overtook her. It tore at every inch of her body, a weak and frail body that had only hours between fits to heal.

There was no way she would be able to stand as she was already convulsing from the coughing on all fours. So she crawled, making her way down the lengthening hallway. Her vision was narrowing faster than normal; she never should’ve held her breath. She passed the door of her room, just ten more steps. She slammed her fist repeatedly on the ground, trying to muster more control, and pushed on the wall, managing to get to her feet. Her body focused only on forcing out the air in her lungs, but her mind was determined to get to her inhaler in the living room. No matter how little of a breath she could manage by then, it would save her, as it always had.

Counting each painful, slow, agonizing step, she finally came to the tenth one and forced her blurry, narrow vision to focus on the buffet only another twenty away. Her coughing slowed to a dull rhythmic choke as her whole body went into shock, staring at the horror in the room. Not only was her inhaler knocked clear across the room and smashed in a corner, but many of her books and even lamps had been knocked about the room, causing a dangerous obstacle course for someone her age and a death trap in her condition.

Her lungs ripped her back to reality as they spasmed again. A pink mist expelled from her as she was heaved to the floor, red continuing to drip from her mouth with each cough. With what little energy she had, she scrambled the best she could over each book, hoping that she might be able to get just enough of a puff from the destroyed inhaler. Dragging herself on her stomach across the room, finally reaching it. It wasn’t as bad as she had thought; only the outside edges had been broken. She held it up to her mouth, but it did nothing. She pulled it away from her, the mouthpiece coated in blood, and looked at the counter.

0

Each cough flicked more and more blood onto the floor and walls.

She rolled over, straining to pull herself to the front door, the window, anywhere she might have a chance to be seen. But she was too weak. What little air she had taken only pulled blood into her lungs, expounding her turmoil. She flopped onto her back, choking, gagging, gasping as her failing vision caught a silhouette. Was it her killer – the one who ransacked her living room, Rascal, or Death herself – come to reveal in her handy work? Only Vonta knew in those last moments as her life faded from her.