This an entry to this weeks Sunday Photo Fiction The beautiful photo is © 2014, A Mixed Bag
He closed his Eyes
He closed his eyes.
Sitting at the foot of the tree, he felt the irregular ruts of the bark pressing against his back and the unevenness of the roots where he had chosen to sit. A blanket of freshly fallen leaves provided a soft yet crackly cushion.
He settled down to enjoy.
The autumn air was blowing lightly; fresh but not cold, a soft caress that ruffled his hair.
The tree conferred an inner strength that reinforced his resolve.
It was going to work out as planned; they would be married by Christmas and all this heartbreak would go away.
A sharp, searing pain wrenched him from his thoughts, and he opened his eyes to see his bloodied hand still clenched around the handle of the knife that protruded from his belly. Warm blood oozed from the wound and collected in a puddle on the white sheets.
His world spun around, slowly at first, then faster and faster until the room was just a blur on the very edges of his vision. The pain reached a stifling, muscle clenching, climax.
Then all feelings and sensations abandoned his body.
He closed his eyes for the very last time.
Sorry if my fiction is a little macabre this week. It just came out that way.