The Eighty Year Hill

Chris Allan

Never before had Roderick Epstein seen anyone so near death. He knew people died, but he’d never seen anyone die before. He tucked in the sheets of Aaron Hickory’s, his lover’s, hospital bed. The radiation had eaten away at Aaron’s muscles, tightening the skin along his bones. On most days, he rested, shutting his eyes and drifting off until his next appointment with radiation.