[ WP ] Eight Writing Prompts !

It is getting dark in the hospital room; the winter afternoon is lapping at the windows. A thin covering of frost creeps slowly inward. The scene outside is quiet, and in a strange way, so is the one inside. Her rough breathing meshes into the rhythm of the machines, a strangely peaceful ending. A bird lands on the windowsill. `` Look'' I say, `` A...'' That was always her area, animals. `` Kestrel, dear. Its a Kestrel.'' I turn around, and she's lying there, barely moving. I have n't cried at all, throughout this whole process, diagnosis, failed treatment after failed treatment, the final days of sitting in the silent hospital room, but a dam breaks, and my eyes fill with tears. `` Its so unfair.'' I hear myself say, `` Everything you've done, seen, survived, and a goddamn tumor kills you!'' 
 
 `` Life's not fair, sweetheart, and most definitely not to us.'' 
 
 I move closer to her, and she puts her hand in mine. 
 
 `` Your ring. Its in my hand.'' I move to put it back on her delicate finger, but she pulls her hand away. 
 
 `` Keep it.'' 
 
 `` Its yours, Genevieve. You should wear it.'' I protest. 
 
 `` No going to do me much good, is it?'' 
 
 I'm crying now, really crying. 
 
 `` Goodbye.'' 
 
 One loud, continuous beep interrupts our goodbye. 
 
 `` Goodbye'' I whisper. 
 
 One grey headstone is much newer than the others. I walk up to that one, and kneel down on the grass. I leave a white rose, her favorite. I am about to stand up when I see a bird. `` What kind of bird is it, Genevieve?'' I ask. I can almost hear her response in my head. `` `` Kestrel, dear. Its a Kestrel.''
