Life at the Edge

Sophie sat watching her brother. The room was unusually quiet with the curtains shutting out the hum of extraneous conversation that usually accompanied her visits.



He was expressionless, face blank and still, but she spoke anyway as she had so many times in the past when he showed no signs of listening.



“What did you go and do a stupid thing like that for, you moron?  Did you learn NOTHING from last time?  For Christ’s sake, I’ve never been so ashamed in my life.  You're in so much trouble ….” She paused to recover her ability to speak, emotion stealing her breath.  “You didn’t have to do this. Why couldn’t you just learn to drive properly, like normal people do”.  Her voice was rising but he still said nothing, and she gripped his hand in half-affectionate frustration.



“I love you, though. You know that, right. Right, Gav?”  She paused again, thinking briefly that she saw an eyelid flicker in acknowledgment of her tirade.  “I’ll give you one more chance. Just one, mind, but you have to wake up. Please, Gav. Wake up.”



He remained unresponsive and waxen as the curtain twitched open.  The consultant who had performed the brain-death tests looked in and there was a compassion in his gaze that she had been unable to find for her brother in her desperation to rouse him before they turned the life-support off. The nurse with him put her hand on Sophie’s shoulder and said quietly “We’re ready to do this, Sophie. Is that OK with you?”



She nodded, as wordless as her brother and almost as pale.  The nurse moved around, pressing buttons and flicking switches, and Sophie watched the lines on the monitor flatten out.  Gavin’s last chance faded, and he died.