The hospital room was quiet, filled with the steady, mechanical rhythm of the life-support machines. It was a clean, white space that smelled of antiseptic and ozone. I lay back against the pillows, my eyes fixed on the way the light from the window hit a glass of water on the nightstand. The refraction created a small, shimmering rainbow on the white sheet. I watched it for a long time, fascinated by how the colors shifted whenever the water rippled from the vibrations of the floor.
My chest felt like it was being squeezed by a heavy, cold iron band. Every breath was a slow, deliberate effort. It was a sharp, biting sensation that radiated from my lungs to my spine. I didn't move much; moving made the sensation spike, turning it from a dull throb into a white-hot sting.
The door opened, and Dr. Aris walked in. He checked the monitors, his eyes flicking over the jagged lines of my vitals. To him, I was a medical puzzle, a kid whose body was failing faster than it should. He didn't see the work I was doing. He didn't see the way I was manually adjusting my face—softening my brow, curving my lips into a gentle, "sweet" smile, and relaxing my eyes to look peaceful. It was a performance I'd perfected over the years, a mask designed to make everyone around me feel like I was a "good, brave kid."
"How are we feeling today?" he asked, checking the IV line in my arm.
"I'm okay, Doctor," I said. My voice was thin and raspy. "The pain is a bit louder today, but it's fine."
I wasn't lying. I didn't mind the pain. It was a sensation, vivid and real. But I knew people expected me to be bothered by it, so I kept the "brave" mask on.
A few days later, Elias came to visit. He was twenty-five now, but he looked older. The stress of the last few years had carved lines around his eyes. He sat in the chair by my bed, holding a new volume of a light novel I'd been waiting for.
"I managed to get it," Elias said, trying to sound cheerful. "The translation just finished."
"Thanks, Elias," I said. I reached out for the book. My hand felt heavy, but I made sure not to let it shake.
As he started telling me about his day at the office, my mind began to drift. I was looking at his face, but I stopped hearing his words. I became fixated on a tiny, stray thread on the collar of his jacket. It was a dark blue thread, looping out and swaying every time he breathed. I wondered how many times it had been through the wash. I wondered if it would eventually snap or just hang there forever.
"...and then the manager said we might be able to take that trip in the summer. What do you think?"
I blinked. The room rushed back in. I realized I had missed everything he said for the last two minutes. I felt a small prickle of guilt, but I covered it instantly with a smile.
"The summer sounds great," I said, guessing based on his tone. "I'd like to see the ocean again."
Elias beamed, his eyes crinkling with relief. He didn't realize I'd been gone. He just saw his little brother looking forward to the future.
Most of my time was spent with my tablet. I watched anime and read manga to pass the hours when the pain made it too hard to move. I usually watched at 2x speed; my brain liked the rapid-fire movement and the quick dialogue. It felt more efficient, more stimulating. But today, the dizziness was back—a swirling, "bitter" sensation that made the world tilt.
I reached out and tapped the screen, slowing the playback down to 1.5x. Even then, the colors felt a bit too bright. I watched a hero on the screen charging toward a dragon, screaming about his resolve. I liked the hero. He was so full of desire, so loud and vibrant. I watched the way the animation captured the sweat on his brow and the blood on his sword. I didn't pity him. I envied him. He got to feel everything at the highest possible volume.
One afternoon, Dr. Aris came in with a series of papers. He had been acting differently lately, watching me with a quiet, observant intensity.
"I want to try a few tests," he said. "Just simple puzzles and focus exercises."
I sat through them, doing my best to pay attention. But while he was explaining the instructions for the third page, I found myself staring at the way the sunlight caught the dust motes in the air. I followed one specific mote as it spiraled toward the floor, fascinated by its path.
"You did it again," Aris said, not unkindly. He wasn't frustrated. He looked like he'd finally confirmed something he'd been suspecting for a long time.
A week later, he sat down with me and Elias. He looked at the charts and then at us.
"I've been observing your focus patterns for a while," he told Elias. "I did some specific testing with him last week. It's not a medical complication, and it's not related to his illness. He has ADD—the inattentive type."
Elias froze. "ADD? Is that... is that going to affect his treatment? Is it dangerous?"
"No," Aris said, leaning back. "It's not a disease, Elias. It's just how his brain is wired. It explains why he drifts off, why he gets fixated on small details, and why he sometimes forgets what he's doing mid-task. He's probably had it since he was born. It's just part of who he is."
Elias let out a long breath, his shoulders dropping. "So it's just... him. It's not the lungs."
"Exactly," Aris said.
I looked at my hands. I didn't feel bad about the news. I actually liked it. It gave a name to the way I saw the world—the way I could find a whole universe in a stray thread or a dust mote. I didn't hate the ADD. I loved the way it let my mind wander to places no one else saw.
The end came on New Year's Eve, 2026.
The city was a riot of sound and light. I could hear the celebrations through the glass of the penthouse. Inside the room, the "bitter" weight in my chest had finally become too much to carry. Every breath was a jagged, agonizing crawl.
Elias was sitting by the bed. He looked destroyed. He was holding my hand, his head bowed, his shoulders shaking with silent sobs.
I looked at him, and for a moment, I thought about what it would be like if he weren't here. If he had left me, or if I were truly alone. I realized I wouldn't have hated the loneliness. I would have loved the "bitter" coldness of it, the raw silence of being forgotten. But I was glad he was here because I loved the "sweet" warmth of his hand, too.
I used every bit of energy I had left to keep the mask on. I faked one last smile for him. I made sure my eyes looked peaceful, like I was just going to sleep. I wanted him to be okay.
But inside, my mind was screaming.
I looked at the window as the first firework exploded—a brilliant, golden burst.
I loved it, I thought. The words were a silent roar in my mind. I loved the pain that felt like it was tearing me apart, and I hated the way it took my breath. I loved the happiness of the stories I read, and I hated how they ended. I loved the loneliness, and I loved the hate, and I loved the warmth. I wished for freedom, to be able to walk and run like a normal person. I would have loved that feeling, but I felt the weakness instead. I knew I would never be able to get this wish, but I loved the feeling—the desire to get a thing that you will never get. The bitterness of it.
I loved it all.
I wished for a second chance like those hero I didn't care what I would be demon human monster ainmal or not even having my wish fulfilled and disappearing or going to heaven or hell
But at my final moment I stopped thinking and focused on the feeling of the end
-
Fist time writing story
Tell me what to improve any Idea that can help