"Sequence raveled out of reach..."

Foreword

I FELT a cleavage in my mind
As if my brain had split;
I tried to match it, seam by seam,
But could not make them fit.

Love may be blind, but that does not dictate the word’s concrete connotation. There are many other things that hinder one’s vision—anger, hatred, pessimism, even optimism. Ah, how wonderfully the human body works! It is able to selectively block out features that one does not take a liking to, whether unconsciously or not.

In the state of emotional crisis, even if one’s words or thoughts clearly express it, the idea of wanting to look on the brighter side of things always manages to weave its way through, though only noticeable from a certain angle of perspective. In this state, the mind works as so: those things that help one cope with their misfortunes become accentuated, as if the peripheral vision suddenly highlights the good (or bad, depending on preference) on which one focuses. Perhaps it is easier to think of it tints and shadows. The items focused upon become highlighted while everything else becomes a simple blur within the shades of insignificance.

The mind isolates these objects; it places attention fully and solely on them, leaving everything else forgotten—its sacred flaw.

Vision is powerful…vision is perilous.

The thought behind I strove to join
Unto the thought before,
But sequence raveled out of reach
Like balls upon a floor.

-Emily Dickinson

Story

Her hands swiftly moved in jagged, yet controlled motions as she guided the sketching utensil across the vanilla coloured page. It seemed as though she merely weaved a simple pattern into the page (quite like sewing, though with the single sharp end of a pencil as opposed to two needles); her zigzagged patterns now took shape. The rough edges formed from the back-and-forth motion defined the contours of what she had imagined in her head.

The jaw line…the hair…the ears…all the unmistakable physical features that defined his anatomy so clearly had been perfectly plotted along the uncharted plane. His broad shoulders curved in the manner which she had always seen him. The lines darted off the page rather harshly as she dragged the sharpened end of the pencil right off the border, the paper almost tearing from that action alone. She went back to work. His hair, tousled in such an elegantly suave form as it had always been, his jaw line now being revealed with more depth as if perfection was actually attainable. All his features had been flawlessly captured and documented by simple lines and gradients upon this single layer of thin fiber. Her contours were complete, and her shading commenced.

This woman’s features appeared to be contradictory. There was a smile plastered upon her lips, though her eyes told a different story.

The eyes are the windows into one’s soul…

Her eyes—her pupils, the dark brown hue of them—made the smile almost a façade. Her eyes gleamed with sadness, horror even—as if an ominous presence had taken her place as her hands were hastily darting over certain spots on the page to add even more shades. Or perhaps, even that sadness or horror seen in her eyes was merely a front, as well. Her actions appeared unconscious. Was she even able to see what she was doing? Her eyes were open, yes…but even then, her actions seemed blind.

The pencil softly scraped its graphite-pointed end against to reveal more blackened marks on the page. Oh, how she captured his form so perfectly!

It appeared as though the pencil itself had uncovered the wild geometry of the soul hidden underneath the contrasting tint…

A sinister laugh, a combo of contradictory emotions expressed. Tension rose; the hot air seemingly condensed into an entity that acted as an extension of her own, invisible to the eye, but present to the mind. Ominous forces took over. She jabbed the tip into the thin layer, almost expecting as if it would scream to her satisfaction. The corners of his mouth now curved upward, darkened corners…blood? No, accents. Simple accents to accentuate his sophisticated nature, a smile looking more like a smirk to express his beautifully arrogant yet chivalrous attitude.

Though of course, flaw always took over after perfection’s momentary time span had reached its conclusion…

Looking over her work now, she dropped the pencil atop the surface of her desk, presenting another deviously elegant smile that could be perceived as the mask of insanity to the wonderful absence of any other rational being. Her eyes began to water, though the smile did not leave her face; she set aside her incomplete masterpiece and pulled out a small journal that lay almost forgotten to her right. Taking the same pencil from before, she opened to a blank page, beginning to document another one of her days that would be passed on.

---

“Sunhee-ah.”

The man, after calling his companion’s name, had entered the small apartment they shared. Needless to say, exhaustion had overcome this man, as if the slow dragging of his two feet did not imply that. He sloppily threw his jacket up onto one of the hooks beside the door and basically threw himself onto one of the couches, closing his eyes and resting his hands in a lazy fashion behind his head as he did so.

This man was Kim Jonghyun, and perhaps his profession was not exactly one of the more admirable ones out there.

He was a philanderer, perhaps another one of the infamous Giacomo Casanova’s voluntary apprentices that had chosen to practice the art of seduction, choosing to test his knowledge by applying it to real-world scenarios. However, this was not exactly the way he had made his living. It seemed almost outstanding how he had managed to live with a person of the opposing sex for such a long period of time, though that was not to say their relationship was very smooth at all.

The woman, Lee Sunhee, was the only woman to ever break through the barricade that Jonghyun had built around himself, the only one able to reveal his true colours, and for that, he was probably more than thankful. Though, there was this aspect of a bruised ego that ran through his blood, and that was probably why he had made her swear to never reveal the fact that they had lived together.

Jonghyun, with a girl? No visible indications of lustful attractions towards her? Such a thing was strange for anyone’s taste, having that name associated with that type of…platonic…behaviour.

Nonetheless, he had this soft side to him that he would only reveal in the confines of their apartment. Even with his countless late night rendezvous, he would always take care of business elsewhere. Whether this was purely out of consideration of the other inhabitant of the opposite gender within this apartment or not remained a mystery.

However, at the moment, Jonghyun was tired for another reason, and yes, it was a reason that did not have to do with anything sexually involved. Ever since he had been promoted at the architectural firm where he worked, the longer hours combined with his body’s inability to cope with the stress had taken a toll on him. He had barely gone to the nearby club anymore and placed a majority of his focus upon this new project they were working on. In truth, this had been his first arrival back at the apartment in about two weeks; half those nights had been spent out with more women. What better way to relieve stress than through pleasure, right? Of course, these faults led to his exhaustion, for the many late night rendezvous had already lagged him behind significantly through late arrivals at work, as well as the fatigue that followed shortly afterwards; but he was slowly getting back into his usual efficient routine, though he was still as tired as ever.

“Sunhee-ah?” he called out once more, rather baffled by the lack of response.

The television screen that sat across the couch, Jonghyun noticed, had been turned on and remained at a rather low volume, almost as if perfectly set for him to be able to rest while updating his brain with the latest news feeds being aired. He spared no effort turning it off as he miraculously picked himself up and off the couch, still questioning the silence he had received. The digital clock placed atop the television read 11:30 p.m. She could not have gone out…or perhaps she was sleeping. Nonetheless, he decided to look inside her bedroom.

A step inside…

“Sunhee-ah?” he said a little more…quietly this time. The atmosphere felt alien—as though he had crossed boundaries into some uncharted territory that seemed more ominous in nature than he liked.

Darkness had fallen over her room, only two light sources illuminating a mere fraction of its interior—the moonlight that dimly lit a part of her bed on the far side of the room, and her desk lamp that lit up the entire top of her desk. That desk—or rather, what was on top of it—had caught his eye. A single vanilla page lay on the surface, the size of a regular piece of printing paper; a ruler had been placed top of it, perpendicular to its length and parallel to its width. The placement seemed too perfect to be mere coincidence.

Jonghyun approached the desk slowly, defensively—preparing for a nonexistent beast that was about to lunge at him. The darkened walls of the room did not help with uplifting this eerie nature. Taking one last shaky step, he peered down upon the paper.

What the-…wow…

He did not have to look at the full image to notice the perfection planted upon rough, sketching paper. Every contour, every gradient of shade had been sketched and detailed with perfect precision. It was him—well, his torso at least. In the picture, his hands were folded over his chest in an arrogant fashion, which was proven by the playful smirk drawn and accentuated by dark, heavy lines and shades at the corners of his mouth. If looked upon from a certain angle, it almost looked devious, as if blood had suddenly taken form and was about to trail from the corners of his mouth, but nonetheless, the image remained still and unmoving.

Jonghyun was almost tempted to imitate the action displayed on that image, though right as he was about to do so, his fingers traced the borderline of the ruler, moving it slightly upwards, his eyes immediately widening as the pupils now seemed isolated and lost in a sea of white upon the moistened surface.

Eyes-…where-…what-…

There were his eyes…absent from where they should be. Instead, it had been drawn as though his eyeballs never existed, the entire area shaded the darkest shade of black from charcoal.

Just like the absence of the eyes, the absence of the soul from the body was also apparent.

He stumbled backwards, trying to get away from the perfectly horrifying image, but then—

A pause…a cough…blood spreading through the white cotton of his polo…

Jonghyun fell forward, onto the desk, and finally to the ground.

---

“Oh, Jonghyun-oppa,” the girl, now identified as Sunhee, called in a sing-song voice with the body of her beloved Jonghyun sitting behind her; this body, though not in the same posture, now seemed like a reflection of sketch from earlier—eyes gouged from their sockets, blood trailing from the now open portals or gateways into the soul, though it was empty. Of course, it was now only a body, the soul had drifted off to some better place to escape this miserable fate.

Sunhee smiled as she looked at the items in her hands. Two, perfectly round spheres—white, with a small, red smudge in the back (from which veins had been severed) as well as small trails of red that branched out from them subtly across the white plain that were seen all around this white, spherical object. She turned them over to face the two black circles on the other side, clean of any cuts, proving her precision in initiating such an act.

“There must be something wrong with your eyes, Jonghyun-oppa…” Her voice trailed off, almost as if expressing some sort of melancholy in the decreased volume, perhaps even scorn.

Eyes…gouged from their sockets, now sitting in the hands of this woman…

…where they truly belong…

“…you never saw me more than a friend…” Her voice came out deep, dark, and full of resentment. “You always went out with those sluts and never even looked at me. What did they have that I didn’t? I’m a girl too!” Her voice suddenly boomed with frustration, and then switched back to her original sing-song tone. “But that’s okay, because now I’m here to fix them!”

She brought the two moist orbs to her desk that had small specks of drying blood still present upon it and laid them down on top of the image of the man they had originally belonged to.

“I saw in those TV shows that before surgery, they usually had to put something called…anes…anesthesia? I think? It was a number type thing, Jonghyun-oppa, and then they would push the needle all the way into your vein. I didn’t have any needles, so I used something else sharp!”

At this point, Jonghyun’s body that was leaning against her bed’s side lurched forward, revealing the 28-centimeter blade that had been roughly jabbed into the left half of Jonghyun’s back…close enough to where the heart is. The blade poked through the other side, now merely concealing a permanent hole that was yet to be revealed.

“I had to cut some other parts to get these, but it’s okay. I can just glue them back together later!”

From a random drawer on the side of the desk, her hand dug into its contents and withdrew a much smaller knife, gleaming with a devious glare in the dim lighting of the simple desk lamp that proved its worth as the single manufactured light source. It had started to drizzle outside, though small rumbles of thunder could be heard, as well as the punctures of lightning that flashed upon the window in an arrhythmic fashion.

Delicately holding this sphere in place on top of the test, she took the miniature blade, placing its sharpened edge upon the delicate, moist surface of white, and then, adding pressure, pushed the knife downward, cutting through the soft fiber of the orb-like figure, letting some of pressure inside be released, ultimately severing the eye completely, leaving it as two different entities, two different hemispheres. She took one of the halves and looked through its now cleanly cut end—through the reverse end of the retina, using it nearly as some sort of lens to look at the corpse that was still by her bed side.

“Waah~” She admired the perfection of this object through the reverse end. “Your eyes are so awesome, Jonghyun-oppa! But then, what’s wrong with them. Why can’t they see anything else besides your stupid sluts?”

Of course, she received no reply in return, only the silence that surrounded her, keeping her company.

…oh, the fallacy of perfection…the closer one comes to attaining it…the further away it seems…

“But at least now, my drawing will be more than perfect!” she exclaimed.

Was it insanity? …Was it the insanity that clouded her very own vision to think that perfection was ever possible?

The blind, blurred contours of one’s perception. Only seeing anything within the periphery of one’s vision, leaving everything else out of the picture. It was only in this state of mind…the clouded, doubtful mind…that perfection was perceivable. It only took one simple look at the details to clear these misconceptions…to see that flaws existed everywhere. Vision is that powerful…to be able to view many things…ideas…at different, countless levels…

Sunhee took her knife once more and replicated her actions earlier, though with the other orb that laid still on the desk before. Taking her ruler, she measured the length and width of the blackened portion of her masterpiece from earlier, which she merely filled in as to indicate that she was not exactly finished, but her chance had come. Tracing the contours onto the whitened surface with the black opening in the middle, she, once again, cut through the fibrous edges of his hemisphere, sculpting (in a sense) perfectly into form to fit within the shaded borders of the image’s eyes.

“Now you’ll look at me…and only…at…me.”

She smiled deviously at her work and turned to pick up the other precious half-orb to repeat her previous actions when something at the corner of her eye caught her attention, gleaming with an almost innocent aura.

--

“Oppa?”

“Happy birthday, Sunhee-ah~” her favourite oppa had greeted her by talking into her room with a sloppily (yet very personally) frosted birthday cake. There were still small stains from the frosting on his shirt, as well as small specks of that same frosting that dotted his face in a random fashion, and that probably touched this young woman the most.

“W-What’s this?” she stuttered. Apparently, she still could not grasp the fact that her best friend had bothered to acknowledge the fact that it was her birthday.

“Well what does it look like? I’m here to celebrate my dongsaeng’s birthday!”

Unable to control her emotions, her tears poured down her cheeks in very visible streams—her vision becoming blurred and skewed behind the moistened layer. Jonghyun hastily placed the cake gently atop the mattress while sitting down beside her, wiping her tears as he did so.

“Yah…” his soft voice expressed this sense of care. “Stop crying, alright? You still haven’t opened your…”

Sunhee looked up to face him, confused as to why he paused, and only to be greeted by his overly exaggerated grin.

“My…”

“Your…” and then he pulled his hand that was hidden from behind me, “present!”

There in his hands sat a small, square…jewelry box? Jonghyun-oppa got me jewelry? The woman thought to herself, but nonetheless, found herself opening that small box to reveal its contents.

A gasp.

“Do you…like it?” his voice sounded nervous, yet still full of confidence—the contradiction was clearly conveyed by his facial expressions.

The gift was a simple necklace with a heart shaped pendant sparkling under the dimmed lighting of her room (if only they would ever replace that light bulb). Her eyes shimmered in a similar fashion as she took the pendant from the box and into her hands, admiring the beauty right before her eyes.

“Oh…my god…” Her voice had managed to suffice in a very soft whisper.

What else was there to say? It was beautiful…nothing more, nothing less.

“So…do you like it?” he repeated his question.

“I love it.”

A simple whisper of confirmation.

--

I FELT a cleavage in my mind
As if my brain had split;

A spark, a flash of electricity darted through the soft fibrous membrane of the woman’s heart, and suddenly, the whites of her eyes became fully uncovered, the two black orbs in the center now surrounded by a pool of a pinkish tint.

“J-J-J-…J-J-Jong…-h-h-hyun….o-o-o-oppa?”

Her head pivoted in a stuttered motion as her pupils attempted to veer in every direction possible, not wanting to accept such a horrid image to be etched into the fiber of her mind.

A flash.

A knife; a body collapsing forward. The body rolled onto its side. Eyes? No…there weren’t any.

I tried to match it, seam by seam,
But could not make them fit.

A gasp.

The knife in her hand. The piece of paper her hand had rested upon. Deadly and poisonous against her skin. Dead…no. Not dead…but certainly not alive.

It was as if though its lifeless nature stirred some ominous force within it and brought it to life. Contradictions blending…

Her foot inched sideways just a bit, also not fully permitting her to completely turn around, but she felt something against the edge of her foot.

What was on the floor? Moisture? What could have made her foot feel as if it were now drenched in such a fashion? …what would have such a dense nature within its presence? It was not simply water…there was no way it was just water…

Her eyes managed to shift their focus now upon the foot she had inched with such caution from just a couple of seconds ago. ...Was that…red? Dark red…crimson…Sanguinary…no, it was not her own blood.

Wait- blood?

But then-

“O-O-…p-p-ppa?”

Her voice managed another futile attempt. Her beloved oppa still lied unmoving on the opposite side of the room.

Her eyes scanned the dark shade of liquid trailing from her foot. Where had it originated from? No…why was it there in the first place? Was her mind playing some obscure game with her conscience? Her eyes…no…her conscience had stopped her eyes’ panning vision from continuing any further. The only thing her peripheral vision could distinguish as another body was the single leg that lied still. The torso of this corpse had yet to be revealed, if it were to ever be revealed in fullness that was.

“AH!” Her shrill, brief scream had accompanied her shocked reaction.

What was she holding?

The moisture upon her finger tips seemed to mold around them…as if eating away through the layer of skin…eating away her own being. She quickly let go.

“AAH!” Another shrill cry. The white that surrounded the black…what-

“AAAH!” Her screams were not only increasing in length of duration, but in volume as well. Her hand unceremoniously released its grip on the knife she had held onto somewhere in mid air; the loud ‘clang’ resonating in the uncarpeted area, barely missing her toes… Was that by pure luck? …or had some unseen being purposely done this deed?

The thought behind I strove to join
Unto the thought before,

What was going on?

…a cold essence seemingly touched her from behind…

“Sunhee-ah…”

Her head immediately turned in the opposite direction, a gasp, followed by a scream, resonating through the open space… Sunhee’s eyes widened even more as she stared at the corpse…did it just turn towards her?

“AAAAH!”

Why did it seem as though her voice now surrounded her; attempting to suffocate her already wavering being?

…her hands immediately grabbed onto the edge of the desk behind her, as if to keep her sanity…to keep her alive. Was she imagining things?

A contour, a pale doppelganger, a replica of her beloved oppa’s being formed right in front of her eyes, as if standing up from his previous position…eyes absent, the visible, vertical hole through his torso where the knife from the corpse still lay… The figure’s right hand reached out to her hauntingly and slowly as it approached her— the air surrounding her increasing in weight. Sunhee backed up even more, somehow that was possible, for her skin had already hugged the edge of her desk so tightly that it might leave an imprint later on.

The figure bent down just as it had come within 1 meter of her form…reaching for the discarded knife that lied at the tip of her bare toes.

“AAAAAH!” she proceeded to scream and thrash about relentless. Apparently, survival instincts now finally kicked in for she was able to pick up her body and run across the room, heading for the closed door.

Locked.

The terrified moans and screams multiplied— attacking her poor being from all sides. What else was left?

He was waiting for her. The body now turned around— the being’s translucent hand wrapped around the hilt of the knife.

One step towards her. Sunhee’s cries reduced to mere, breathless exhalations. Another step, but she remained in the same spot; physically exhausted but still mentally screaming. Another four steps, and the figured now loomed over her, the absence of his shadow very apparent. The knife rose above his head—its sharpened point gleaming with darkened purpose.

Sunhee’s mind, once more, attempted to figure out what was going on, but…

Sequence raveled out of reach…

The irrationality of her thoughts became only enhanced with the constant fear running through her blood. The doppelganger’s hand descended upon her chest—the young girl’s life ending before she even had the chance to protest one last time. The blood dripped down from the wound, creating small dots upon the ground…

…Like balls upon a floor…

---

“So what do we have here?” A man stepped into the musky aroma of the room, observing his surroundings whilst waiting for the younger detective to inform him of the situation.

“Well, sir, it seems as though it’s another one of those…”

“Those what?”

“Well, it seems as though this woman…had stabbed the other man over there, but then what’s unexplainable is how the knife…” The younger man referred to the hilt of the blade extending out of the woman’s upper torso. “…had lodged itself there. It’s clearly obvious that the man had been murdered, and there are no traces of any other DNA samples in the surrounding area. Only these two were present.”

“What are you saying?”

“I don’t mean to seem…sexist, sir, but a woman’s own strength is not sufficient enough to drive through her own sternum. Some outside force must have done that, but we don’t know how…”

The older man contemplated for a moment before furrowing his eyebrows and sighing. “Gather what else you can and keep me updated.”

“Yes sir.”

And with that, the man left the room, leaving the younger detective to continue with his work.

Four Walls

In the beginning was the Word…

Well, perhaps citing scripture was not exactly the most proper beginning of a story, but I suppose there was not any perfect beginning either.

I took a look at my surroundings. Nothing had changed, at least not to any noticeable extent. It had been four months, four very interesting months, since I had been confined in this room and ordered to remain practically stationary for the remainder of my visit here as many more tests were to be done on my physical form. Yes, I’m in the hospital, and for reasons that I found rather stupid yet still logical in its own sense.

Simply put, I had cancer already in one of its most serious stages, and as soon as my thorough diagnosis (or at least that’s what the doctor had referred to it as) had concluded, I was given only a week maximum to clear up things with my employer and everything so that I could fully move into one of the many conformed rooms of the hospital. Why did I think this was stupid? Well that can be simply explained as well, and that would be that since I had already been confined to such a strict schedule, whether or not I had decided to succumb to the healthcare professionals’ wishes, at least let me work to my fullest extents before the limited amount of time I had left would completely diminish. I was only twenty-four years old. I had many more miles to walk before I would finally decide to rest.

Nonetheless, I had found myself practically stripped of everything I once had as I entered into this chamber of bare white, the only thing that seemingly had any deviating pattern to it being the very thin gown lightly draped over my form and tied around my back. Forgive me for preferring faded polka dots rather than just the pure tint of white.

Perhaps I’m too harsh, or perhaps I just seem too harsh in comparison to the rather high concentration of apathy flowing in my blood. Cancer was cancer, nothing more, nothing less. If one of the downsides of this particular state of the anatomical being was that it would ultimately lead to fatal results then so be it. Those constantly attempting to extend life as much as they could were simply wasting their time. One of the reasons life was so precious was because of its aspect of being finite. We do not live forever, and if we continually pursue that horrid curse of immortality, sure, one would be able to live longer, but in turn, the absence of one’s appreciation towards the aesthetic values of life would be emphasized. No longer is life something beautiful, but rather, just another variable that could be manipulated in a large, nightmare-ish science experiment. Take life for what it is, and not what it could be.

Though I was not really fond of it before, I had grown quite accustomed to the routinely schedule that one followed on a daily basis here in medicare heaven, and taken out of context, there were quite a few advantages to being confined in this closed area, though most would seem as though I was more lazy than I intend to be.

Firstly, it was like a proper exchange between I and the workers here. I did not have to work in order to keep a roof over my head. I did not have to stress over the fact that my full 40 hours a week may not be met, for everything was given to me practically free of charge. In turn, it was more an indirect order than anything, but I almost felt obligated to have them run tests on me endlessly as I go through these multiple cycles of chemo. In other words, they provide for my living, I provide for them data.

Another thing is that I did not have to stress over work, but that had increased my boredom to a rather unearthly extent. It was like you’ve been locked in this chamber exterior to time itself. There was no sign of personal routine (other than the tests, of course), no sign of pattern, no sign of liveliness. It was just me and these walls, and due to the time span that I had already spent here, I had become more acquainted with them, though not to the extents of paranoia in which I had referred to them with certain names or labels.

Lastly, because I had remained stationary virtually every second I had spent in this white chamber, I had learned to become much more observant. Perhaps it may not be such a large step for those who constantly used their analytical mind, but I had led a hectic life previously, and the time my brain had spent actually using its powers to observe were significantly hindered because of that, the focus being on just surviving. I was able to take time to look at something objectively, examine it to more than just what was on its surface, and make an inference about it. Personally, it was more of a privilege than anything else.

For example, I look to my left and face the wall that had a window on it, allowing me to view the outside world while still keeping me out of harm’s way. The night sky had seemed a merely very dark shade of blue that could be mistaken for black at this time of night (7:00 p.m.). There were no stars, or at least they were not able to be seen. The street lights that illuminated the city, along with the many other buildings that had yet to close for the night, had created a sheer cloak against the eye, disabling its ability to see the beautiful patterns of constellations that stars had made with their light. However, I was able to admire the aesthetic value of nature in the simple form of the sole color the sky expressed, because unlike ever before, I had finally realized how far away something was. I had finally seen the simplicity in something so complex.

The window was an illusionary device that most did not give any second thoughts about. It was a more a barrier than a wall, for you could not overcome it; a permanent separator between you and the outside world that emphasized one’s domesticated state all the more clearly. Yet, it feels as if though you are still part of that world out there, and that was where the illusion, the evil power of deception, had full control.

I tended not to look at the window during day time for it had made me just that much more melancholic, mainly because I had still slightly missed my old, hectic lifestyle compared to this one. Most of the time, I looked that wall, through the window, only during the nightly hours when a blanket of shadows had dominated the scene and the contours of many edifices became indiscernible due to the shades of black. Pathetic as it may sound, it was almost as if I had preferred my accurate perception to be altered and contradicted, for it did not provide me any disappointment, like a natural antidepressant, if you will.

The wall in front of me was also bare and white. There was a small couch set against that wall, as well as a mini square-shaped table with two more chairs. I looked to my right, the slightly open door had permitted the lights of the main hallway to illuminate a very small fraction of space in my room, enhanced by the fact that the lights were not on at the moment inside this space. There was a digital clock right beside the door, and a television set that had been mounted to the corner of the right and front walls that, most of the time, remained turned off, for I had never found any programs, cable or not, too terribly interesting.

For the last four months, these simple objects scattered around the room (though not really “scattered” for that gives the connotation of a mess) have become my companions of some sort. Inanimate as they may be, they were all I had. I had no direct family, I had no family in general, for my parents had passed away during my teen years, and the one aunt that I had usually confided in was still over 3000 miles away in our home state because I had moved away for college. I had many acquaintances, but no one I had honestly gotten close enough to for the label of being my “friend” had been placed upon them.

The only person I had honestly considered the one closest to me probably did not even mind my absence over at our workplace, but that may have been my fault as well. The amount of time we spent with each other before my admittance to the hospital was well above average than just mere friends that most thought we had some type of romantic relationship, though those was clearly fabrications that were left unhandled. I had allowed myself to become attached for one reason and one reason alone, and that was simple because he was more like family to me than anything. Perhaps he was like the brother I never had, the missing piece that just completed my full spectrum of a perceptual family, the one that always seemed to be blurred out in the photo. Whatever it was that I shared with him, I knew that it would not escalate to such extents as those rumors mentioned. It was merely…an indirect cry for some type of personal attachment, if you will.

But that had all ended after I had gone on a hiatus from that job for an indefinite amount of time. He never contacted me, nor had he visited me, not that I was really expecting him to. I guess he was simply fed up with all the rumors that when the opportune moment had arrived, he had taken it without any second thoughts.

Sure, at first, I had been disappointed, but after some unknown length of time, I had found myself thanking him more than anything.

He had given me the chance to regress, because that’s what this entire thing was. As soon as I had entered through those solemn, revolving, glass doors of this hospital, I knew everything was reverting to how it had been 24 years ago, with my mother wearing a similar gown to what I had on, the pain she had endured as she was in the process of giving birth to me, the only child she would ever conceive. Now, it seemed as if I was doing the same, staying in here for long periods of time with nothing but a gown on, though only this time, I was not giving birth, but rather, my own life may be taken away at any given moment. The cycle had come almost full circle, from nothing, to everything…and then back to nothing.

The door opened.

One of the many nurses had come in and did not even acknowledge my presence, well, consciously that was, merely taking the clipboard that had been attached to the foot end of the bed, reaching out unsophisticatedly for my hand to check my pulse, check the readings on the machine behind me (the name of the machine still eluded me til this day), and recorded all her new pieces of data onto that sheet she had taken from the clipboard.

She then roughly let the clipboard slam rather roughly back onto its holder at the foot end of the bed and turned to leave, though before she took a third step, she turned to me, face completely devoid of any emotion.

“How are you feeling today?”

“Fine.”

“Good.”

And that was the end of our interaction. You knew the conversation had concluded when the eminent sound of the door slamming had resonated through your ear tunnels.

Now, one might wonder why I had given such a generic answer, and the explanation was simple, really. How are you feeling today? It was probably the most robotic/generic question to be asked within this realm of white conformity. It was like an unwritten rule that was known between all the employees here. They were not obliged to be nice to their patients, they just had to act like it, and apparently, that was the least imposing, yet most thoughtful question they could think of. It was all a façade, merely used to generate good reviews from the patients, having them comment on how “caring” or “kind” their workers were, but I saw past it all. They did not care at all, and most of the time, if you took over two seconds to reply, I would find myself being blatantly ignored. It was a sad reality in some aspects, knowing that any attempts of trying to converse, even if just a couple of minutes to get your mind off of your current predicament, was futile.

So after that small ordeal, I found myself staring up at the blankness the ceiling had to offer once more, and before I knew it, another two months had passed.

Somewhere during that two month period, I had found a small, yet still discernible crack on the ceiling, and that, more than anything, had seemed to convey the severity of my already malfunctioning system. At times, the crack would blur, its contours suddenly blending in with the white ceiling, as if it had never existed in the first place. At those specific moments when I would not be able to see that crack, I was in deep pain, my back hunched as I rolled over to one side of the bed, shivering as if I had just come in from an ice storm, and many times, tears would blur the periphery of my vision, distorting all that I would normally see in front of me.

A couple of hours ago, my condition had stabilized, though not without the assistance of a fair dosage of morphine that had put me out for quite some time, but now, my condition had worsened once more, I, finding myself hunched over to one side of the bed, trying to suppress the unbearable waves of pain that resonated throughout my entire physical form.

“Hey…” I heard a familiar voice drift off into the silence of doubtfulness as I looked up to see him, the one that had not bothered contacting me for months. There was just a slight indication of shock in that small glint in his eyes, though they soon vanished as she shrugged at my “reduced” and rather pathetic state and position.

“What…are you…doing here?” I managed to get out through my shortened breaths, clear distaste in my raspy voice. Whether it was hatred or merely temporary frustration that had been expressed, I was not sure, but all I knew was that his presence was anything but pleasant. I had been alone, without any companionship for the last six months, so I was more inclined to think of his visit as an invasion of personal space more than anything.

This room…this little realm of conformity had been mine and mine alone… Why was he even here?

“I went to visit you at your apartment…but your neighbors told me to come here…”

“Why did you decide to visit?” My speech had come out surprising fluent and not stuttered as it had previously been, but my voice was raspy as ever. My position had not changed either, my hands still hugging my lower abdomen while I was supposedly in a fetal position.

A mere sigh escaped his lips as he placed his backpack gently over to the side of my bed, taking a seat from the table across from me and placing himself down on it, leveling his head with mine, “You’re not looking too swell.” I guess I wasn’t going to receive an answer.

“Go away,” my ever so eloquent and obviously well matured reply had come as I closed my eyes again because of the pain. However, before my eyes had closed completely, I was almost positive that I had seen a rather mocking smile play along his lips, and that was more than enough for me to hate his presence even more, because even after a lengthened period of time without any contact between each other, he still knew my ins and outs.

The surrounding silence had taken over for the time being, though it was surprisingly not as awkward as I would have originally assumed.

…and that’s when I finally arrived to the conclusion, that I was, indeed, weak. No matter how many thick layers I had produced over time, exemplifying this image that I had created of myself being the independent person, no matter how many times I denied my previous image, it had all come crumbling down. It was as if a force had stabbed right into the core of my well being, and ripping all those protective layers to shreds, leaving the bare, weak, lonely being I truly was exposed and vulnerable.

All because of his presence.

Those layers I had intricately woven had been set afire, disintegrating before my very eyes, and he was the source of the flame, and I found myself confiding in his warmth. The warmth of his being, the warmth of his presence, the warm feeling inside of me building up because of the fact that his visit here today had confirmed the fact that I was still part of his life, no matter how miniature of a piece of the puzzle I was, and though it may just my immature presumptions that had led me to this overall idea, his presence had made me, once again, believe that someone out there still cared and would be there for me when the stress’s weight would just be too much for me to handle. The regression of my thoughts, back to the naïve girl that I could still see running around in the park, carefree as usual, not having to worry about any of the other obstacles that life would inevitably slap down right in front of her.

The simplicity of that time period…I had missed it. No, it was much more than just the reminiscing of it. I had desired to revert back to that. This entire regression phase that I was currently going through, it was not placed upon me by some unknown outside force that I could not see with my mere human eyes. No, it was all voluntary, and now, with my new epiphany, the tears had begun to flow again, and I even found myself whimpering in my pathetic state.

But then, I felt the familiar heat arise upon my shoulder as hand had been placed upon it, as if consoling me in a compassionate manner.

“Hey…” he said in a half-whisper, still holding my shoulder firm as his other calloused hand had begun rubbing my back in a circular motion. I didn’t hesitate and allowed his touch to comfort me, succumbing to my naïveté and dependence. “It’s going to be okay…”

“No…it’s not,” my voice had come out scratchy as my entire body was shaking, not only because of the physical pain anymore, but as well as the pain of knowing that I had finally become too dependent, the fact that I knew that I wouldn’t be able to support myself any longer. I could not even cope with this simple realization, and now I had to deal with it for the remainder of my lifespan.

“Yes, it will be,” he shushed me in the same caring manner as I had remembered…as I had longed for.

“What do you know?!” The shock had clearly been expressed through both of our facial expressions, more so his than mine. How I had managed to shout in such a dignified manner that completely contradicted my current position was something of an unusual occurrence. “What do you know…?” I managed to repeat, finally reverting to my previous tone of voice, crying more than ever. The contours of the man in front of me had blurred significantly, though he was close enough for me to differentiate from the contrastingly colored wall behind him.

“Hey-”

“After six damn months, ONLY after six damn months, had you finally decided to visit me!” I cried out in desperation. Dignity was no longer part of my vocabulary. I had given up on it for it could no longer be maintained.

“Look-”

“No, you look!” I struggled at first, but finally freed myself from his touch, though the absence of the familiar warm sensation had caused me to be slightly uncomfortable, “…” I couldn’t even figure out the words to say, that’s how pathetic I had become.

“What…?” he asked me, a tinge of regret accompanying the tone of his voice.

“I have cancer. I’m going to die. Bottom line. End of story.”

“Since when did you become so morbid?”

“Six months,” I emphasized that length of time, “can definitely change people.”

“Then again, I suppose not much has changed. That’s more realistic than morbid.”

I could sense the slight amusement in his voice, and the confirmation of my assertive presumption had come when I heard his light chuckle right afterwards. It made me hate him ever the more so, the simple fact that he’s still able to joke around be so…carefree, even as I’m slowly wearing out.

“Go away.”

“You said that already.”

“Then do it already,” my replies had become more crude as our little conversation (or at least that was the most proper title for what it was we were exchanging verbally) progressed ever so thoroughly.

I heard his sigh come out, rather short, but still very audible, and filled with intent. “Look…I did have a reason for not coming to visit until now.”

I felt like such a fool. Had my intentions been so clear that I had not even have to reveal them directly with my words? Had I become just so emotionally dysfunctional that even my small actions and expressions had rendered me completely transparent, so easily see-through? Why couldn’t I defend myself? Why did I have to seem so pathetic? No…why AM I so pathetic? Why, even after continuously attempting to convince myself that I hated him, want to know his reasoning? Why was it that I still longed for his touch, his warmth, to surround me?

“And I won’t waste both our precious time-”

“Just tell me.”

An exchange of a smile, forgiving and understanding, came between as, as he hesitated, but ultimately began talking about his story. He knew me too well… I could tell that he had stripped away all of the finer details of how hard it had been for him, but even then, the simplicity of his explanation was far more than I would have expected.

“…You even went to that funeral, remember?”

I nodded weakly, for that was all I could suffice. That funeral he had mentioned was (in the most appropriate terms) an eye-opener for me. After all the time I had spent with him, it had been the first moment ever in which I had seen him in such a vulnerable state, silently sobbing throughout the night at the hotel we had spent the night in because his relatives had requested for him and I to stay for the entire weekend in which the burial of his grandmother had taken place. So, the fact that I had been there, consoling him, I had concluded, had been the reason for our solidified bond that we shared.

“My share was already piling up. I had to make the money somehow. Working overtime, no breaks what so ever, you get the idea.”

My silence, to him, had confirmed my understanding of his situation. The cost of funerals, the entire service, was not exactly cheap, and thus, even divided amongst familial relations, it would take one quite a while to pay off that amount.

“Anyway, I’ll save you the unending boredom,” I noticed the small smile creeping on his face, “You look like you need more help than I do. Just rest, won’t you? I’ve told you this repeatedly, you’ve worked yourself too hard.”

And of course, the repeated statement that he had always given me had come into play, but this time, it had been different. How? Simple. Because this time, rather than just completely ignoring said advice, I had yearned for the ability to adhere to his words, but my own strength would not allow me to do so. No, my will power would not allow me to do so, for my body was too adamant in its attempt to fight off all my health issues and keep me alive.

However… I felt his ever so simple touch and warmth make contact with my cold, bare forearm once more, and I suddenly as if I would be able to finally relax all my tensions.

That’s when I had finally allowed myself to be drawn to him again, after so long, when I had finally allowed myself to accept the fact that I needed his presence to keep my sanity, when I finally allowed myself to let go of this childish inhibitions of mine and have myself freely accept the compassion which I had secretly longed for. How the simple presence of a human had so much impact on one soul, such as mine, one would never know, but even the simple deterioration in the eloquence of my language had definitely proved how much I had fallen from that treacherous, narrow cliff of momentary independence.

“Just rest…” he whispered as my vision began to blur, my eyes slowly closing, “It’s time…”

And with that, because I no longer had anything holding me back, or any doubt in following his words, I closed my eyes, allowing myself to drift off into a deep slumber, succumbing to the darkness surrounding me…but then…a small light had illuminated that path way…was that…mom…dad?

---

The EKG machine across the width of the bed had finally shown the ever so distinct flat line, drawing out that long, single, unwavering beep that had confirmed the person lying in bed was no longer of this Earth, and though a weak smile had appeared on the man’s face, the single tear that had dropped down from his left eye and landed on top of the thin fabric of the hospital gown had contradicted it so.

Bittersweet…just like her favorite chocolate…

The man had said within the boundaries of his own thoughts, bringing his unused hand up to his face, wiping the small trail of clear liquid from his left cheek as his other hand had finally retreated from the body in front of him.

It’s time…now rest…

And with that, he had taken his belongings from the side of the bed, and left, leaving the body to, once again, be forever left alone, but that everything had all gone well.

All she needed was that presence of support, to help her finally overcome these falls that she had been confined in. She had been bounded to such a small space for so long that she had learned to adjust to those surroundings, as if they had become her permanent home, but now, it was time. She had received her support, the care of another being other than herself, and with that, she had been set free. Now, she had to re-experience that freedom in which she lacked…the right way…without any walls or barriers holding her back….