Father Mercy

Gentle hands smoothed the coverlet, sliding up to embrace wrinkled fingers. Benevolent lips smiled at the parched life captured in those callused, leathery palms.

"Good evening, dearest," his voice was low, soothing the ears of the deaf and the minds of the comatose.

The room was still, silent, save for the echoing inhalation of the sleeping woman, her oxygen mask snugly strapped across her face. Little light peeked beneath the pulled shades, leaving the room in a pre-mature dusk. The man stood over her, contemplating the map of age on her face. His fingers lightly traced her vein perforated arms, pausing to rest over the stark IV bruises painted carelessly on her frail skin. A nurse bustled about the hallway, stopping to poke her head around the door to chirp a respectful greeting to the man. He smiled softly at her, the corners of his eyes crinkling lightly. She beamed back, lingering in the doorway, her task momentarily lost to his amiable smile. He tilted his head, a gesture of muted amusement, and she started with realization. With flushed cheeks she continued on her way, the door clicking quietly closed in her wake.

The man returned his gaze to the sleeping woman, expression drawn in sympathy.

"Well dear, it looks to be just the two of us this evening, but don't worry I'm far more competent than those maids. I will see that you are well looked after".

The man patted her hand lightly. He turned away, a frown tugging at his lips as he searched out a chair to pull to the bedside. He sat close with his arm draped across the railing to rest beside her withered wrist. Yes, this one was his to care for, this poor, wise grandmother left to the mercy of decay by her thoughtless children. For weeks he had seen her here, exactly as she was now, forgotten, collecting the must of age in the dried valleys of her pores, like an old book grown brittle from disuse and exposure to the chaotic elements of human hands.

But he was here now, here to grease the cracked spine and re-print the torn and missing pages.

A youthful finger traced the ridge of bone around her gaunt eyes. He took a moment to marvel at the beauty of the contrast; her dwindling life basking in the comfort of his vivacious limbs. His tender smile captured the beauty of the moment, a moment not soon forgotten. Graceful fingers slipped down her face, tracing the curve of the oxygen mask. In one quick gesture he tugged it down, leaving it to dangle limply along the jowly contours of her neck. Chapped white cracks ran in jagged, patternless lines over the deflated pout of her lips.

The results were instantaneous.

The chest rose and fell to an increasingly ragged tempo, great gasps of air straining the shriveled capillaries in her lungs. Her lips trembled gently with the effort, yet curiously enough, her features remained untroubled and still, closed eyes oblivious to the body's distress. A pallid peace hung over her, prepared to drape itself over her body. Anticipatory flutters rippled through it like a sheet dangling at the wind's mercy. The burden of life had been placed upon her chest, and it was evident that time did not favor her fight.

A touch of tedium lined suddenly tired eyes. This one was no different, a lost soul with a life lost in limbo, the balance tipped suddenly by his own designs.

Boring.

It was so easy, so infuriatingly easy to grab hold of that thread, the one by which her last breath dangled, to pull the ends taut or leave them listless, lifeless. There was no challenge to be found here. A polite frown pursed his lips.

This one didn't truly need him.

He patted her hand and adjusted the mask back into place. Her breathing began to steady, the rasp of oxygen once again filling the silent void. The pallor receded from her jaundiced skin, and he watched with a look of patronizing pity. This one was a disappointment, but he loved her all the same.

Yet, he was already here and saw little sense in finding another one for the evening.

Deftly, the mask was removed again, and again he watched with attentive compassion as she choked on the very catalyst of her own life until the white cracks of her lips became limned with blue.

Once more he repeated the process, yet this time replacing the mask with an air of finality. He stood as if to leave, but the wet glimmering sliver of color peering out beneath tired lids caught his attention. A weak ray of light flickered across the faded irises. Tired lips twitched in a familiar toothless smile, welcoming his strange company to stave off the loneliness the years had given her in return for her blood and breath. His silhouette eclipsed the stray sunbeams as he bent to press a kiss upon her hand, lips upon liver-spots.

"Rest, grandmother, I will come back tomorrow," his words hung in the gasping air, offerings of love to ease her slumber.

Then he was gone.