9th July

I had a dream.

I was on a bed, staring at a ceiling. I wore thin clothes and had a thick blanket over me. I could feel the faint throbbing pain on my left arm as they injected nutrients into my body. I recognised the scenario. I had been through it several times.

The ceiling lights were bright and quite obnoxious, the air conditioner was barely pumping. Despite that, I laid in the bed, covered by a thick blanket, shivering. It felt cold, unnaturally cold, my body was freezing. My fingers felt like they were going to fall off. My skin was so cold that when I tried to scratch my chest, I could not feel anything, just a numb, faint pain. My mouth was dry, unbearably so, so dry that I was suffocating.

Why was I here again?

I know this place. I hate it.

I hate it. I hate it. I hate it. I hate it. I hate it. I hate it. I hate it. I hate it. I hate it. I hate it. I hate it. I hate it. I hate it.

I fucking hated it.

I remember it like it was yesterday, I know it like the back of my hand. I hated the place so much I might as well die. A cold, confined space, people crying, sniffing, shifting in the background. Five other people in the same room. I laid there, staring at the ceiling.

Why?

Why me? Why did it have to be me? Of 7 billion people in the world, why did only a few have to suffer this? In fact, why did I have to be part of those few? It made no sense, why me? This is unfair.

I felt a tremble deep inside my chest. That's right, in the end, I was just like this, forever confined, forever bound to a bed. I was never meant to achieve anything, how could I? I was sick so often, I could never find work even if I wanted to. The only thing I did was strain my parents' financial status.

My father and mother must hate me. They had gotten together because they loved each other and wanted to have a happy family, but instead, they got me. A child so useless, I might as well not exist. I drag them down, I'm just a hindrance to them. I doubted they loved me, why would they, I mean, what good have I even done? I'm so useless I can't even do any of the housework, I can't even do the dishes without falling sick. Why would they love a pathetic child like me?

Wouldn't it be better if I died?

I thought that, but paused. I trembled and tears started looking in my eyes, my deface becoming hot, my vision becoming blurry. I could not stop trembling, what was wrong with me?

Why?

They shouldn't love me, they should have just abandoned me in some orphanage, it would have been better for them. Leave me to die in a pit, they could live a comfortable life that way. They would have money to buy a house, go on vacation, who knows? Maybe enjoy life while they still had it. There was no point in them taking care of me just to live in this minimal life, working them down to the bone, coming home every night exhausted.

So why? Why do their faces keep appearing in my mind?

My father and mother's smiling faces as they looked at me. Their warmth when they hugged me when I was younger. The flowery atmosphere when we had a home-cooked meal together. Why did these memories keep popping up? I hate it, I hate it. They shouldn't love me, just abandon me, things will be much better. My mother can finally quit her stressful job, and my father can enjoy his Sundays with her. I'm useless, I don't deserve such parents.

So why can't I stop crying?

Tears kept flowing nonstop, I could feel my face being plastered with tears. In honesty, I don't want them to abandon me. I don't want to feel that isolation, I want to feel the warmth of a hug again, I want to have a home-cooked meal together once more. So don't abandon me, I'll get better, I promise, and one day, we'll all go on a trip together.

I blinked, my vision still blurry as I looked to my right, where a person sat. It was the same spot my mother would sit at every time she visited. I remember, every day, she patted me to sleep gently, her smile soft and warm. I felt relaxed. Her eyes showed no sign of hate, no sign of regret, she genuinely wished me to get better, to not feel that pain any longer.

Mom?, I tried to whisper, but my throat was so unbearably dry.

The person reached out and rubbed my tears off for me. I saw her face clearly, as clear as day, as clear as the blue sky. A girl, around my age, sat there. Who was she? What was she doing there? She sat there, wearing a stylish black shirt and pants. She wore casual clothes that looked good on her, and I admit that she was beautiful. She had blonde hair, tied up with a black hairband into a short ponytail. She looked at me, smiling, her eyes twinkling slightly.

She retracted her hands, her fingernails painted a dark shade of pink. She said nothing, only looking at me calmly. Who was she?

After having looked at her, all my previous thoughts disappeared, what was she doing here? Was she a nurse? Who was she to me? Why was someone that beautiful taking care of my pathetic self? I could not tear my eyes away from her as I stared, what did she want from me?

She held a book in one hand, a small book of about A5 size. She closed it and smacked my head playfully with it before leaning closer. She hovered her face right above mine, standing. I held my breath as I felt hers. What was going on?

She was so close, our faces just a few centimetres apart. She was so close, I could see every detail of her blue eyes. Her blue eyes sparkled, and in the direct middle, was black. Her skin was smooth and light. I could smell the faint scent of flowers from her. My eyes were drawn to her lips, but I quickly adjusted my sight to the side. Some of the loose strands of hair fell on my face.

She cracked another smile and pulled away. I could hear her ask me, 'Do want all of this to end?'

What was she talking about? I did not know how to answer, what was she implying?

She walked away from me. She had her hands behind her back as she walked, I looked at her back. She continued, 'Do you want to be relieved of all this sickness?'

I paused. Was she implying she could help? How? I wanted to know, at any cost, I wanted to know. Of course I would want to be healed of this sick and fragile body. If anyone was in my position, why wouldn't they want a way to heal themselves?

She spun around. The girl walked towards me again and leaned close, her mouth right beside my ear as she whispered something.

'Then wait for the day, you'll be free of this curse upon you. Wait for me, for I will free you on the Thirty-First of July.'

My eyes flew open.

I opened my eyes, feeling a pull on my arms, but my eyes closed once again. I could not feel any bed, nor could I feel the ground. I caught a quick glimpse and a momentary feeling.

I was pressed against something, my arms pulled in front of me. I remember such a thing from years ago. When my father had offered to carry me on his back. Granted, I got injured right after, but it was still fun. I had fun, was my father carrying me on his back again? Where were we going? Besides, being a high schooler, having someone carrying me is pretty embarrassing. But I could not, and would not stop him, it was such a pleasant experience, I just hoped my father didn't strain my shoulder again.

I had a dream.

This time, it was more of a memory, a memory of my first sickness, at least, a memorable one. I was told I was prone to sickness ever since kindergarten, but I never really paid attention to it. I was told I was sick when I was too young to remember, but I thought it was only something the adults said to scare me. I was running around, I was so energetic, why or how would I ever get sick?

For the first week of elementary school, I ran around, playing anything I wanted.

Until I got sick during the second week.

I remember, my chest felt so constricted, so tight. My body was flaming, I thought I would die. My heart pumped so fast, any faster and I would have experienced a cardiac arrest at elementary school. My mouth was so dry, and there was a disgusting taste in my throat. My skin was itchy for no reason, and my skin was basically a light shade of red. I cried and cried until no tears were left. I was sweating unusually, sweating too much.

I was brought to a hospital through all that pain, and I was advised not to leave my house. I took medicine, stayed in a cold room, had a cold cloth pressed against my forehead. I was often wiped with a damp cloth to regulate my body temperature. Taking care of me through all that, was my mother. She did not have work back then, so she could afford the time.

I remember suffering the entire time, unbearable pain and annoyance, to the point where I wished everything would stop. My mother kept me company throughout, never leaving my side.

After two weeks of torture, I returned to school.

From then, I no longer participated in any activities. Sitting at the side of the playground while the others played, taunting me. I ignored them, never wanting to go through that torture ever again. But regardless of what I did to take care of my health, I would always get sick.

I can't bear it, why was life so unfair?

My eyes opened once again.

I looked around me, it was the same scene, the same image. Almost blinding lights above me, annoyingly bright. The air conditioner was barely pumping, but I felt cold for some reason. Around me, I could tell there were others, from experience, probably around five of them.

I thought about it, so much time in the hospital this way, hearing the cries and moans of agony from other patients, I had already become accustomed to shutting down outside noise.

I looked to the side, it was better than staring at the obnoxious light. I could move, but I felt so unreasonably tired for some reason, and thirsty, and hungry. I looked to the side, thinking. Was I asleep? Or was this another dream of mine? I could not tell, and my memory of the dream was already fading. I looked around, not sure what else to do. I wanted to ask for water, to ask for food, but I could not reach out to press the button to call over a nurse. I looked to my right and I saw a familiar face.

How had I not noticed my father sitting beside me, peeling an apple? What time was it? My father looked awfully tired, he had dark rings under his eyes as he stared at the apple, moving slowly with the small knife in hand. I saw as the parts of the peel fell onto the plate placed below it, as it shed its red skin to reveal the white flesh inside.

My father saw me and gave me a smile.

"Skipped work today." He told me, yawning before continuing, "You had me worried there."

My father skipped work? Just for me? He took a day work just to take care of me. I looked at him, not really having much strength to speak. He looked at me and put an apple into my mouth. I chewed slowly, luckily, the apple was of the sandy, disgusting variety, so the texture was easy to chew. I swallowed a bite, and I already felt drained of all my energy. My father had put a cup to my lips, water trickling down my throat, relieving me of that painful dryness. My father helped me until I was no longer able to chew, a piece of apple half-chewed in my mouth. He helped remove it, placing it on the plate.

"I'll take another day off tomorrow." My father told me, cleaning up my mouth.

I had a drip attached to me, it was not like I was going to die.

"Your mother had been tired recently, so I don't think she'll visit anytime soon." He told me. "Don't worry and focus on getting better."

My mother wasn't going to visit me? I cleared that thought off my mind, what rights did I have to ask my mother to visit me when she was working so she's to support the family. My father too, there was no need to take another day off, he should focus on his job, I had no rights interfering with them.

My father has a sad look in his eyes as he said to me, "Get better, and when you get back, we'll celebrate, okay?"

I managed another nod before my eyelids started dropping.

Was another one of my days going to end? Just like that? No, no, no. I can't just live thirty minutes of a day, what about my friend? I have a friend! I want to tell him about my condition. What about the class? What would they think about it?

Actually, I know what they were probably thinking.

The new student gets sick, no one would really care. Only Red would probably care, even slightly. I doubted Pink, or the girl to my left would care in the slightest. Life goes in, I meant nothing to the world, to the grand scheme of things, I was nothing but a speck.

It's tiring…

Beep… Beep… Beep…

It's so tiring…

Beep… Beep… Beep…