Death of Michael Veil - Flash Fiction

Michael Veil was supposed to be dead when I got there. I was only there to sign some documents of his life away after he died.

I wasn't supposed to see him die.

In fact, I didn't know or care enough about him to see it. The man was nothing more than a client for me. I was his legal consultant, or his lawyer, that he went to in matters of law. I knew he was dying, and the current case he was involved in would be ended once he passed.  

Mr. Veil is what you would call prominent in the world as a great thinker, as I heard from him many times, in a rather pretentious tone that he was a man who could fill a room. And he had, from Oxford to across the sea, the man drew a crowd for his speeches on self-determinism.

I believe that he started as nothing more than an assistant for some newspaper, if I am not correct, but later in life he went on to be a philosopher of sorts, preaching that you are the way, you are the light, and that you should only look inside to find all that you need in life.

He marked his own life as proof of that. He had dozens of books written and was a man that people would pay to give speeches on life, so I suppose the small, stocky man from the small town across from the main city train station was correct in his assessment of his philosophy.

You make of yourself what you want.

I must admit that I never looked much more into his life than the legal requirements, as I didn't particularly care much for the man.

I showed up to see that there was no one outside of the hospital room. As I stepped inside, I saw a woman crying in the corner, not facing anyone. From the back of her brown hair, I could tell it was the soon to be widow. I was too soon in my arrival though as Mr. Veil still lived.

He was lying on his bed as two other gentlemen in the room were by the man. I did not recognize them.

"I am George." Said the taller of the two, who sat by the bottom of the bed. "This here is Karl. We are friends of Michael."

The fatter man, with his monocle in his right eye, spoke as he stood next to the dying man. "We are like him. Yes, I know him from a time before it all. Don't we, buddy?"

The man on the bed lay still, not opening his eyes. The only way for me to know he was alive was the machine attached to him.

"How do you know him?" Karl asked me as I looked at the woman sobbing in the corner. He whispered, "She is only waiting for the end at this point. We all are."

"I've known him for a while," I said.

"I notice you speak nothing of his friendship." George, who had a lean face, spoke up.

"I knew him. I can't say well." I said no more of my reason for visiting.

Neither spoke of my relationship, for we were all there for one reason: to wait for this man to die. We knew it was going to happen; it was only a matter of time. The three were there for support, as compared to me, who viewed the entire experience as a business transaction. I needed him to die to finish the case.

Karl, spoke up as though to try to maintain some level of normalcy to the situation, that none of us felt. "We were speaking of the new theory proposed where the stars aligning have matched up perfectly with our friend's death."

"If you have the right alignment with the stars, then your death should be peaceful, the theory goes."

"Who was it again? Some German fellow, I believe, came up with the idea. Quite groundbreaking, if correct."

"You are here for that as much as support." Joked the tall friend.

"Nonsense." The man standing next to me said. "I have been a friend of Michael's for years. I knew him back when he was a reporter, not known for his brilliant mind. He worked for a site called Breakin Out, where he wrote silly observations he had of the world."

"It seems our friend's mind was too great for simple topics such as that."

"So it seems. I do miss those days, though, as he didn't have to prove much intellectually speaking. Isn't that right, Michael?" The short man standing said to the dying man as though he could hear him. I only stood in the middle of the two, slightly behind Karl, as to give myself room.

Then, the eyes of the dying man opened as wide as I have ever seen eyes open. It was as though he was given a shot of something. None of us reacted, for we didn't understand what was going on. Was he still alive or not? The gloom in his face seemed to suggest the death was close by.

Then Michael called out, staring at the ceiling.

"Oh god, the flames! They burn! They burn! Help me! Help me! Help me!"

Then his eyes closed, and the machine shut off. He was dead.

Nobody spoke of the last words of the man, or what they even meant. The nurse soon came into the room, and wished us all the best, and instructed Michael's widow of what to do next.

I was told to head to the front desk to receive further instructions on the legal matter closing due to the death of the man.

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