The Green Whisper

A man lives out the last day of his life.

Pablo awoke that morning knowing that he was going to die.  He’d heard the green whisper, as the locals called it, escape from his dreamcatcher as he’d risen into consciousness.  He didn’t quite know how to explain it, but did anyone really?  It was somewhat of a folktale - a legend - that was passed down as a feeling, as thing that happened and you’d know when you knew.  And Pablo knew now.

He walked down to the French market and bought the cigars his wife had always hated him smoking.  Then, he’d walked along the river, savoring the flavor he’d always loved, surrounded by an herbal haze.  It was the clover leaf that made all the difference - that’s what he’d always told his wife.  She’d just scrunched up her face and coughed, fanning away the smoke.  He chuckled.  He missed his wife, but he’d also missed his cigars.  After lunch at the local pub, he’d walked back to the apartment.

He approached the window and looked out over the rolling hills, then down at the potted plant on the sill - a succulent with purple leaves called a Debbie, same as his wife.  It was very healthy, its leaves vibrant and plump.  “I hope someone takes to caring for you after today,” he said affectionately to the small plant.

He skipped dinner, enjoying a bottle of brandy he’d been saving.  He had a moment where he laughed - maybe it was all blarney - but he knew in his heart that it was the end.  As he fell asleep in his wingback chair, he smiled.  He’d see Debbie soon enough.  As he drifted away, his consciousness leaving his body, the Dullahan whispered once more and Pablo breathed his last.~