by Paul Harris
He lay on the kitchen floor, groping for air, groping for life, the pains in his chest so intense that they suffocated him. He tried to slide across the linoleum floor, to reach his phone and call for help. As he wriggled in a sea of confusion, he saw the screen light up. His vision was blurred but he could see the phone beginning to bounce towards his outstretched hand as it vibrated against the floor. It began to ring out but was still beyond his reach. It called to him insistently. With his very last milligram of energy, he stretched and clasped it in his hand just as it stopped ringing. Through the fog of death, he saw Moke’s name displayed on the screen. He gasped, a rasping last breath, and was drowned in an overwhelming sense of solitude.
The End
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