1 What Lies in between

The day was a beautiful one. The sun spread its golden rays across the sky, softly kissing the city with warmth. A light breeze blew through the streets and raced around corners as it gently hugged the civilians.

The hustle and bustle of the people, the chirping of birds, and the groans of machinery created an atmosphere that lulled one into relaxation. It seems so cruel that one of the most beautiful days of the year for a city usually suffocated in grey clouds would be the day in which I was told that my lease on life was coming to an end.

Sitting in my car as I drove from the hospital after my last round of aima exáleipsi therapy or A.E.X for short. I felt helpless as I pulled out another agent of death from its packet.

A.E.X was a recently discovered treatment method for a new disease called Choteluy. The doctors said it was caused by the rise in pollution contained within the air.

It affected blood production in some manner that I did not fully understand. All I understood was that I basically had super Leukemia.

Rolling the cig between my fingers while waiting in traffic, I searched for the lighter in my pocket.

It seemed to want to evade my grasp.

Its efforts were futile. Nothing would stop me from running to my death. As I lit the cig, the streetlights turned green. I dragged hard on it as I drove forward.

Before me, the sun had started to set, and its rays seemed to be stained in blood. I recalled the meeting at the hospital. My doctor had wanted me to stay, to continue a treatment that we both knew was futile. The cancer had grown too powerful, claimed too much of my body as its territory. The chance of getting rid of it was too low, and my mental health was on the verge of collapse.

All the treatment would have done was continue my suffering.

No, I would not continue the treatment.

I would rather live my last days of life quietly drinking tea and reading books. Perhaps even one last rewatch of Gurren Laggan to cleanse my mind. Another drag of the cig, and my lungs exploded into a flurry of coughs.

Drawing breath was hard.

My hands shook.

My throat tightened.

The car swerved.

I stepped on the breaks, and the air erupted with the sound of screeching tires.

My vision was blurry, my throat was dry, insults were thrown by the drivers behind me, but their voices were distant.

My hands were shaking, I was soaked in sweat, and my vision was blurry. I could hear a ringing in my ears.

The anger of those around me was unable to reach me in my current state of confusion. As my mind started to clear, I continued to drive, continued to smoke, and reminisced on my life up to this point.

The almost fatal incident simply faded into the back of my mind.

Irrelevant.

Honestly, I was proud of what I had accomplished. I had built a multimillion-dollar business by the age of 22, started to live a life of exploration and fine dining by 23.

At which point, I had started to build my long-missing social life, but that was cut short. 24, I only made it to 24.

Fuck. Life was not fair.

The cig was finished. I threw it out the window and grabbed the next one, but the lighter was dead. After another 10 minutes of driving, I arrived at my apartment complex. It was rather luxurious if slightly plain, just how I liked it.

Entering the reception hall, I walked past the receptionist to the elevator. The usual greetings were not heard. People tend to avoid those close to death as if they feared that they might also get infected. I had grown used to it after a couple of weeks. I honestly could not hold it against them.

They are only human, after all.

As the elevator ascended, I stared into the mirror. My face was gaunt, my eyes tired and dead. My head was bald, and I looked like a skeleton with skin stretched over bone. My fingers were like sticks, and when I spoke, my voice came out hoarse.

I stood there for over a minute, then two, then five. It was only ten minutes later that I managed to tear myself from the mirror. Exiting the elevator, I went to my apartment and immediately entered the kitchen.

Stress eating was a new habit.

I had a simple dinner of pasta and pesto while drinking a cup of earl grey tea. There was not much I was in the mood for. Even video games had been unable to keep me interested.

Checking the time, I saw that it was only 8 P.M yet I already wanted to sleep. Not out of fatigue but simply out of apathy.

Hardly anything interested me anymore.

I decided against sleeping early. After all, it made no difference when I slept, at least not anymore. Walking out to the balcony, I sat at a circular table outside.

Another cup of tea had been prepared. The book, An interview with the devil, also accompanied me outside.

Reading had quickly become one of the few things that still interested me. In the past, I preferred novels of heroes and fantasy, hope and light. Now my interests had turned to the darker side of things, to books that spoke of darker subjects and taboo secrets.

Quickly I grew entranced by the book.

It was only several hours later when, I read the final page, that I emerged out.

The tea had been finished, and the city had started to quiet itself. The moon had emerged, and the empty void of the sky covered the city like a blanket. I sat there for a while as I began to ponder what I would do for the rest of my admittedly short life.

The business that I had created I would sell, all that was required was that I sign some forms. The apartment complex that I was currently staying in was owned by me. The profits were in the low 7 digits.

It would stay in my possession under different management. I still needed to pay for my lifestyle, after all.

My remaining relatives, who were still alive, meant nothing to me. I ha not spoken to them in years so, I saw no point in restarting communications.

As for my new friends...

The less said, the better.

I could not even lift up all the fingers in one hand with the number of friends I had.

Tears streaked down my cheeks, and I started in surprise. I was crying.

I hated crying.

"Is this the end?" My voice came out small and frail. Quickly I wiped the tears off my cheeks. I steadied my breathing.

Looking up into the sky, I felt despair creeping through my chest. My heart was heavy, and my sorrow was rising.

Suddenly a star started to fall, a trail of light flying out behind it. A shooting star, when I was young, I used to wish for the most inane things but even then, I had never really believed in their powers. But now, in this moment of weakness, just for a moment, I did. I wished with all my being, from the depths of my soul.

"Give me the power to change things to make my own life, to end this curse that is my cancer!" I howled into the night like a beast starved.

Falling to my knees, I stared up at the sky and hoped.

Nothing changed, of course, nothing changed.

In my moment of weakness, I had fallen to delusion.

Grabbing the teacup and my book, I staggered back inside. Slamming the sliding glass door behind me as I walked in. I dashed the cup into the sink and threw the book onto the kitchen table before rushing into the bathroom.

I washed my face as disappointment crept up.

Disappointed at what? That some bullshit that you knew would not work didn't work?

" Fuck you."

Oh, I had fallen. As I looked into the mirror and laid eyes upon my grief-stricken face, I looked away in shame.

Looking at myself would only drag me deeper into despair. I left the bathroom and stumbled to the bed as exhaustion added to the storm of emotions currently ravaging my being. Sleep did not come easily; it was only at around 4 in the morning that I managed to slip into it.

When I opened my eyes, I was floating through a void. There was nothing as far as the eye could see, just me floating. Was I dreaming, everything felt so real, my vision was so clear?

I still had five fingers, and when I pinched myself, I still felt pain.

"Am I dead?"

"No, you are not." A voice replied, seeming to come from every direction. It was deep and laced with power.

"Who is that?" I shouted as I looked around to see if I could find the source.

"Show yourself."

"That would be most unwise. You would be wiped from existence by viewing any form of mine."

Disbelief was my first reaction. My second was to calm down and analyze. Whatever the situation I was in, it was safe to assume that whatever that voice was had more power than me.

I was at its mercy, provocation would do me no good, but I was curious.

"Are you God?"

"No, not in the sense that you are thinking, I am not your maker nor the creator of this universe. Who created this universe? I do not know nor care. But in a sense, I am a god, my power is infinite, and if I so wished, I could be omnipotent within this universe. Usually, I tend to reside in between universes. The creations of others never did tend to interest me. However, that is not the point of this little meeting."

"Then what is the point?" I replied, slightly anxious. Hopefully, whatever it wanted was not detrimental to me.

"I heard you pray, which in of itself means nothing. What was surprising is that your prayer pinged off me. I could hear it from outside this universe. That still would not be enough, but you have intrigued me, and as such, I wish to give you a gift."

I was skeptical. The alignment of this being was very much unknown to me. And if mythology books had taught me anything, then it was to be wary of free gifts.

"And what is the nature of this gift?" The skepticism I felt was clearly present within my voice.

"There is no need to worry if I wanted something from you, I would take it. You can not stop me. No, this gift is without ill will. I simply wish to grant your wish and see what you do with the power I offer."

"Is that all?" I asked.

"Yes, indeed that is all."

He was right. If he was as powerful as he said he was, then there was nothing I could do. Plus, I had but a couple of months to live.

"Sure. I accept your gift."

....

A ray of light slid through the blinds and washed my face in warmth. My eyes fluttered open. I was back in my bed and felt no different than before. My body was still weak, my chest still ached, and I still craved a smoke.

Rolling out of bed, I slid into slippers and went to the bathroom, still bleary-eyed. Looking in the mirror, I saw the same visage as yesterday. No change whatsoever, but the dream had felt so real.

Why did I have such a realistic dream?

They usually were not supposed to behave like that. I know that for a fact.

Ah well, it is what it is. Whining about it would not make it change. As I turned on the faucet, I froze and stared at my hand.

Right there, on my palm, was a black circle. How did that get there?

I tried washing it off, but I could not get it off. Now unless someone sneaked into my room and drew a black circle on my hand with a permanent marker, then this should be related to my dream, right?

Once again, I felt hope but quickly, I squashed it down.

Hope is poisonous. Reason would lead.