Roisin Steed (nee Glynn) is from Galway.  She was Educated at Our Lady’s Bower Athlone, spent twelve years in England and worked at tourist office in Galway.  She won a prize in Deirdre Purcell short story competition and also won many letters of the week in Sunday Independent prizes.

Ebbing away

By Roisin Steed

The last thing he remembered was the loudness of the engine ringing in his ears.  He knew in that instant that something terrible was going to happen and now lying here in the grass he could still hear the engine though no longer so loud.  Was that his tractor he could just make out the shape of and was it turned on its side?  Nothing seemed important anymore-he felt so peaceful.  A baby frog hopped up beside his face, studying him for a minute before losing interest.  He knew he ought to be doing something because all his senses were screaming ‘Emergency’.  Reaching down he touched his right leg-it was warm and sticky but the shape was not familiar.  Bringing his hand up slowly he looked at it.  It was covered in blood.  Still he felt so peaceful, as though nothing could touch him.  A stiff breeze blew and as the grass was flattened, he thought he saw his shoe with a leg in it, away in the distance.  He must be dreaming, there was no pain.  He started to feel down the front of his body-his face first, it felt sticky too.  Then his neck and his chest.  His hand stopped as it felt something in his top pocket.  He very slowly eased it out first one half, then the other.  He laughed silently.  Broken in half just like himself.  He doubted that he would have been able to press the numbers, and in any case he couldn’t remember any so that was that.  He’d just have to lie here and think of the irony of those words he’d often say to his friends, ‘‘I wouldn’t buy one of these to save my life’’.