Once More

Sixty seconds. Then, it's time to go...

Bradley Ramsey

Mar 12, 2025

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An empty hospital bed with blue sheets and pink plastic pitcher on a shelf in the background. — Image: Bret Kavanaugh via Unsplash

This story was a runner-up winner in Vocal Media’s “Just a Minute” challenge in May 2024. It is being republished here on my Substack with minor changes and new audio narration.

The hospital room was empty. Some outdated gameshow was playing on the TV with the volume on mute. I couldn’t move, and I could barely breathe. I knew this was it, but I wasn’t ready.

The clock on the wall, old and yellowed with time, stopped ticking when he walked in. A sharp-dressed man with pale skin and icy blue eyes.

He walked with a stutter, depending on a polished cane to steady his movement. He sat on the edge of the bed and leaned his cane against the window.

“You know who I am?” he asked.

I nodded.

He looked around the empty room. “No one came to see you?”

“Anyone who cared is either gone or thinks I’m dead already.”

The man reached into his coat and pulled out a worn leather book. He licked one of his slender fingers and turned to a page about halfway through the book.

“Strange, you seem like a good person. Alright, I’ll give you sixty seconds. Your choice; just give me a day and a time.”

My eyes wandered up to the frozen clock. “Sixty seconds until what?”

The man’s piercing gaze burrowed into me. “I think you know.”

“Okay, April 23rd, five years ago, just before sunset,” I said.

The man raised an eyebrow as he flipped through the pages of his book. “What’s so special about that moment?”

“It’s the last time I was happy.”

The man closed his book and nodded. He pulled an ornate pocket watch out of his coat and flipped it open.

“Your time starts now.”

I blinked, and the hospital room was gone. The first thing I felt was the kind of crisp and cool air you only get from a place untouched by civilization.

The top of a mountain, the edge of a beach, the center of a forgotten forest. That’s where we were, far from everything else.

A half-empty bottle of wine sat nestled in the grass beside a blanket. Leftover dessert, taken to go from our date earlier that night at a fancy local restaurant, graced tiny plates as cicadas sang in the trees around us.

I felt her fingers crawl into mine, like sliding beneath a warm blanket. I turned away from the sunset on the horizon and looked at her.

Hues of red and orange, evening colors, danced across her skin. Her eyes held my entire universe, glistening with galaxies all their own. She smiled, and I smiled back.

We were both present. Our problems felt like distant memories.

“You’ve never looked more beautiful,” I whispered.

Her smile widened. “Then do something about it.”

I slid toward her and leaned in close. Her perfume washed over me. A comforting scent that carried a thousand emotions. I ran my hand through her silken hair as our lips collided like stars. Possibilities exploded outward like supernovas, sending ripples through the cosmos.

“Time’s up.”

I watched her fall away from me as time passed like a slideshow on fast-forward. I saw everything I had ever done and wanted, all the possibilities soaring by on some phantom wind.

I blinked, and I was back in the hospital bed. The man put away his pocket watch and extended his empty hand.

“What if I’m not ready?” I asked.

The man shrugged. “No one ever is.”

I took his hand and climbed out of the bed. He led me to the door. Beyond it was a blinding light. I looked back at my body lying in the bed.

“Tell me, does it get better after this?” I asked.

“Better. Worse. Hard to say. It changes; I can promise you that,” the man replied.

I felt the tug of his hand, and together, we walked through that doorway into the unending light.