Forty-Five Minutes (Short Fiction)
The board was like a magnet. Questioned about the unusual situation in years since, Markus Blane couldn’t recall the size of the old man’s room, the color of the walls, or even where he was in the room. All he could remember were two things: the checkered board on the table in front of him and the old man’s face. A man with minutes left to live. But then, that was the job. “They said I have about forty-five minutes left,” he said as Markus entered the room. “So come on in.” He was oddly calm, with kind eyes. Somewhere in his mid-eighties, perhaps. Markus had seen him before, waiting in line at the cafeteria – or the ...