Waiting and other short stories (collection)

Worse than death

She was just a kid when it happened, marching outside, splashing in the puddles in her little green boots. We went out to play catch with a tennis ball she had found in her room, oblivious to the rain and the thunder storm on top of us.Completely carefree.We ran down the street together, muddying our clothes by jumping in the biggest puddles and tossing the ball back and forth

She couldn't catch properly yet, mind you. I'd throw it and 10 seconds later she'd come waddling back with the ball, like a dog. She'd always make an effort, sticking her hands directly in the mud to get this ball that meant the world to her, like she meant the world to me. Then I threw the ball a bit to far, bouncing off the bump in the pavement and it rolling into the road

It wasn't like in the movies where time slows down and you can save them. It was a blink and you miss it moment, except you couldn't miss it with her lying face down on the road, one of her little green boots stuck under the tires. She didn't come running back with her ball.

She didn't die, infact she's right next to me. My little girl. 8 now. Hasn't spoken a word in 6 years. Hasn't opened her eyes either. Some say I'm lucky she lived, I can protect her from the dangers of the world whilst she lays dormant in the hospital bed. But me? I sit here everyday, slowly watching her crumble away while I waste away myself. That's a fate worse than death.