The crash could be heard for miles, even if there was no one around to hear it. It had left him lying face down in a ravine, his limbs twisted at odd angles, some were surely broken. The pain was nearly too much for him, but there was nothing he could do for that. He tried to think about anything else to help keep his mind off of that terrible pain.
He thought about his childhood, the happiest years of his life. The thoughts made him smile on the inside, for those were some glorious years, full of wonder and hope. He couldn’t help to think of how everything had gone so wrong. He had wanted to make a difference. He had wanted to make his mark in this world and leave something behind for his children. Surely, the odds of that were growing slimmer by the minute; so much pain.
But those glory years had sure been something, hadn’t they? The old days before his grandparents had passed away, when they were a large family and one to be reckoned with. He had learned so much from them and he missed them all, dearly. There was something about a grandparent’s love that was so special, at times almost surpassing that of a parent. Where had the years gone? He asked himself this, lying there in so much pain and found that he honestly couldn’t answer that question. But they were gone, there was no doubting that.
His grandparents had taught him things that he never would’ve learned from anyone else. They taught him the values of living a good life, how to rise to the occasion when necessary, or when it was time to let it all go and live and let live. He had absorbed those wordless lessons as if they had been taught in a classroom, for observation is truly the best teacher in life.
Dwelling on that, between the sharp radiating pains, he began to feel somewhat guilty for not thinking about his parents; in these, what were possibly the last moments of his life. They were both gone and he still had a hard time thinking about them. They had stood by him in those darkest hours when it seemed as if all was lost. They had brought him up to stand tall and proud and to follow his dreams, wherever they took him.
They died one at a time and each took a big piece of him with them when they left. He’d never felt such pain, far worse than the pain he was feeling now. He would gladly experience one thousand times this agony for the chance to spend another hour with either of them. Sadly, he knew that would never be. He wondered if he’d been a good son and he thought that he had. Not perfect, heavens no, but good enough in the grand scheme of things. He’d been there for them in their twilight years. He had tended to their needs as the years took their terrible toll on them. What more was there? Nothing could have prevented him from being there; he knew that and was secretly quite proud of that fact.
They had taught him the true meaning of family; that families stick together through thick and thin, no matter what. They taught him about commitment and trust and love. They set examples in their daily lives that had made him proud, that he would try to emulate for the rest of his life; which now that he thought about it, seemed to be just about over.
He could feel the pain subsiding, and he knew that these were his last moments in this world. The thought was sobering and for a long time he could feel nothing but an overwhelming sense of loss. Gradually, his thoughts turned to his children. Had he done a good job raising them? He certainly hoped so. Did he understand a little more about parenting, now that his life was flashing before him and the end was near? He thought so.
Still, he had raised his children like his parents had raised him; to stand tall and proud, to lead by example, to face what needed to be done with courage and resilience. He knew that, and he drew some comfort in those thoughts. He had passed on the concept of following one’s dreams, for what else was there? He’d drilled into them that failure was a lack of effort, plain and simple. He hoped that he had been a good father, one that they could look up to even after he was gone. That was important to him, for he’d had that luxury.
Death was creeping in; he could feel its claws digging into him as if it were the talons of an eagle. There wasn’t much time now. He used these last moments to think about his wife. They’d had their differences over the years, God knew that was true. Still, she had stuck by him throughout the lean years, when it seemed like everything was stacked against them. Deep down he knew he had not been easy to live with and he hoped she would forgive him for that. He also hoped that she would look after the children, now that his life was drawing to a close.
In the end he thought of what he had left undone. He’d had big dreams of how he would change the world. If someone would’ve have only listened to him, he could have done that. He just couldn’t communicate on that level, no matter how hard he tried to do so.
Wait, he heard voices. Maybe there was still hope? He didn’t know, but he would try his best to share his dying message with the world. They were drawing closer, so close, that he could hear their footfalls in the brush. With a great effort, he began to speak.
“Hey, did you hear that, Chuck?” asked one of the men.
“Quit goofing around, I know that was you. What do you take me for, a fool?”
“No, I’m serious. I heard something. Quiet…there it is again. What do you make of it?”
“How the hell should I know? I’ve never heard anything like that before. It really creeps me out. Let’s hurry up and get this over with.”
“Wait! Hang on a minute, what’s your rush? We both heard it, you know we did. Where do you suppose it came from?”
“I don’t know and I really don’t care. We’ve got a job to do, let’s get it over with.”
“Fine, have it your way. Still, I think we’re making a big mistake.”
“Mistake, what the hell do you mean?”
“Haven’t you ever heard the expression, screaming trees?”
Chuck merely grunted as he fired up his chainsaw, drowning out the screams of the dying oak.
Bennie