The Flood
Chapters (101)
- Cover
- Dedication
- THREE LOST MEN
- The First Man:
- The Second Man:
- The Third Man:
- SATURDAY
- Chapter 1
- Chapter 2
- MONDAY
- Chapter 1
- Chapter 2
- Chapter 3
- Chapter 4
- Chapter 5
- Chapter 6
- Chapter 7
- Chapter 8
- Chapter 9
- Chapter 10
- Chapter 11
- TUESDAY
- Chapter 1
- Chapter 2
- Chapter 3
- Chapter 4
- Chapter 5
- Chapter 6
- Chapter 7
- Chapter 8
- Chapter 9
- Chapter 10
- Chapter 11
- Chapter 12
- Chapter 13
- Chapter 14
- Chapter 15
- Chapter 16
- WEDNESDAY
- Chapter 1
- Chapter 2
- Chapter 3
- Chapter 4
- Chapter 5
- Chapter 6
- Chapter 7
- Chapter 8
- Chapter 9
- Chapter 10
- Chapter 11
- Chapter 12
- Chapter 13
- Chapter 14
- Chapter 15
- Chapter 16
- THURSDAY
- Chapter 1
- Chapter 2
- Chapter 3
- Chapter 4
- Chapter 5
- Chapter 6
- Chapter 7
- Chapter 8
- Chapter 9
- Chapter 10
- Chapter 11
- Chapter 12
- Chapter 13
- Chapter 14
- Chapter 15
- Chapter 16
- Chapter 17
- Chapter 18
- Chapter 19
- Chapter 20
- Chapter 21
- FRIDAY
- Chapter 1
- Chapter 2
- Chapter 3
- Chapter 4
- Chapter 5
- Chapter 6
- Chapter 7
- Chapter 8
- Chapter 9
- Chapter 10
- Chapter 11
- Chapter 12
- Chapter 13
- Chapter 14
- Chapter 15
- Chapter 16
- Chapter 17
- AUTUMN 2016
- Chapter 1
- Chapter 2
- Afterword and Acknowledgements
- ABOUT THE AUTHOR
- Copyright
Cover
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Dedication
To Annika, one of the very best
THREE LOST MEN
APRIL 2016
The First Man:
THE WILL
All these decisions. During the last months of his life, this was what he would think about the most. All the questions that needed an answer, all the answers that were in fact decisions. How he wanted to live, how he wanted to die. And which secrets he wanted to share, how many he would take with him to the grave.
He was in no doubt: she deserved to know. However, he was less certain whether she really needed to know while he was still alive what he’d hidden for all those years. He thought their relationship would be better off if he continued to keep quiet. The time was so short, and he still had so much to do. To use a clichéd expression: it was time to atone for the sins of the past.
So one rainy morning in April he sat down at his desk and wrote the most important letter of his entire life. Every word had to be chosen with extreme care, every sentence polished to perfection. When he had finished he read through it over and over again. Eventually he was satisfied. Or rather resigned. This was the best he could do, and he would never know how she reacted when she found out what he’d done. Exhausted, he got to his feet. He needed lunch, a rest, a walk. He needed to get away, but suddenly he was overwhelmed with fear and anxiety.
He sat down.
Again, he thought. I have to read the letter again.
And so he did.
My darling,
Some months have now passed since we were given the worst possible news. When you read this, I will be gone. The day of my death has been decided, and we both know exactly when it will be. It is incomprehensible – impossible to grasp – that I am sitting here writing, yet I am aware that my time is measured out. It always has been, to be fair, even if we human beings often choose to believe that death will come to others and not to us, as if there is a third option somewhere between eternal life and eternal rest. As if we can come and go as we wish through the portal that separates the living from the dead. Trust me, that option does not exist.