Page 1 of Alaska Lights

Forty years old

Lying on a cot in the middle of the sanitarium wasn’t how I planned to die. Well, I suppose no one plans to die. We only know it’s inevitable.

I’ve already outlived most of my friends and mama. Consumption or smallpox took them, leaving me all alone in my own death.

No matter the fresh air or sunlight I receive, I waste away. There isn’t a cure. Every breath is a wheeze. I have lost so much weight, my ribs can be seen and my eyes are hollow. The fatigue is unlike anything I’ve ever experienced.

All I want to do is close my eyes and hope I never wake up.

Dying is so lonely.

I’m afraid. I don’t want to die.

There’s no one here in this room with me. It’s dark minus a few candle flames flickering, casting shadows onto the walls. Back and forth, the fire sways, and my mind plays tricks on me.

Perhaps, it’s the sickness eating away at my mind, but I swear, the shadows dance like two long lost lovers finally finding one another.

A tired weak smile dares to twist my lips as I watch the small shadows embrace one another, finally together after living within the candle during the day.

When the wind breezes through the open window, the flames struggle to remain. Thunder booms outside, the cot shaking from the force. I grip the thin, sweat-soaked mattress as a giant coughing fit wrecks my body.

I bolt up, my entire body shivering, and I lean over the bed, coughing so hard, I throw up. Bile floods the floor until I’m gasping for breath, gagging with every cough that strangles my throat.

“Mr. Alaska!” A nurse runs in with a cloth mask covering her mouth and nose in hopes she does not get infected.

How wonderful of a soul do you have to be to put your life on the line for a stranger you don’t even know?

“Oh my goodness. Let me get you some water, Mr. Alaska.”

Alaska. Just Alaska.

I do not have a last name. I never had a first either. I was left near Port des Français somewhere along the bay. An older woman found me wrapped in animal skins in a handmade basket. I was a baby. The woman, who became my mama, named me Alaska since that is where I was found.

She didn’t believe I was born here. She thought someone on a ship, explorers, or travelers of some kind left me on the banks of Port des Français.

Mama was always clear about my past. She wanted me to know the truth about myself, and I love her for that. She never gave me a last name because she said she sensed I was destined for one in another life, the kind that binds souls for all eternity.

She died about ten years ago, outliving everyone she knew too. I never knew Mama’s real name. I guess it doesn’t matter, but I had hoped when it came to death, I wouldn’t be “Just Alaska” anymore. I’d have a purpose, a meaning to the world, someone important to somebody.

I’ve never been meant for anything. I’ve always been a question mark, an event that happened but wasn’t meant to.

“Mr. Alaska. Drink. Breathe,” instructed Nurse Anna—I think—I can’t remember. Most of my days are spent in a fog. An endless cast of clouds that live within my head.

“My goodness. You’re soaked to the bone. Let me get you a wet cloth, dear. I’ll be right back.” She leaves the cup of water on the floor within reach.

My hand shakes as I slowly stretch out my arm. Every motion hurts. I whimper, spitting out blood, spit, and left over bile. Sweat drips down my face in waves, the warm breeze doing nothing to sate the fever in my blood.

A metallic taste blooms over my tongue. My vision blurs and I squeeze my eyes shut, shaking my head. Opening them again is hard. Every time I blink, my lids are heavy.

My skeletal hand wraps around the cup. Water splashes over the rim, the chills shivering my entire body. I groan when the water hits my lips. I swallow it down in messy desperate gulps.

I drop the cup onto the ground and roll to my back, gasping for breath but at least the has coughing stopped.

For now.

I’m no fool. I know I am dying. By how much weight I’ve lost, I give myself seven days, if I’m lucky. I think it will be more like three days. I hope. I cannot do this anymore.

I did not have a marvelous life, but it was one I wanted to nourish. Mama left me her small ranch, and I never went back to give it the love it deserved. It was too hard being there, so I traveled the coast, picking up odd jobs, living on the land.