A Noble Death

I feel like it's all been for nothing. The overriding sense of disappointment was the start of my decline, where the drip of life leaving began.

I'm a fighter, a military man. I'm not averse to hardship; in fact, I relish the challenge. When I was chosen to come on the Antartic expedition, I knew it had the potential to be the end of me. There is nothing in life that I have not approached with full commitment, and there is nothing that I have had thrown in front of me which I have not tried to tackle, especially in the field of physical endeavour and endurance.

Who wouldn't want to push oneself to their very limits? Death or glory!

And yet, I am tired, having done just that. And yes, disappointed, as I have mentioned. But, if I am honest, it is not just those things: I am being brought low, not by the physical restrictions of frostbite and hunger. I have endured hardships before.

The reality is I am no longer the charger at the forefront, riding into the breach, weapon primed and enthusiasm for the fight bristling in the air. No, I am the casualty, the incapacitated infantryman being stretchered from the battlefield, bloody and bruised, fighting for their life.

Knowing that we have failed. That I am a failure. All that is difficult. But, to be compounded by pain, disfigurement, my bodily flesh and the good opinion of me rotting?

I am sapped. It is like I have been infiltrated by a parasite, one determined on sucking all that is good from me: my resilience, my resolve, my right to life. It is reducing me daily and as I shrink, I see my stature, my respect from others becoming burnished and no longer reflected brightly in their dullened eyes.

I am a burden.

I will not have it.

It is time to go. I choose a noble death. A gift. To them. I will not be the cause of their demise or their reproach.

And Scott? Will he think better of me? I hope so.

Blizzard, have me. Tundra, be my grave.

I am just going outside and may be some time.

***

366 words

The story of Captain Scott and Captain Oates has fascinated me since I was a child. I like imagining how they must have felt and Oates' last words have been used here as they were reported in Scott's journal.

You can read more about Oates here:

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