Blue Roses
A steady beep.
Soft.
Repetitive.
Mechanical.
That was the first thing Cristiano heard when he woke up.
Then came the light.
Too white.
Too clean.
Too different from everything else he was used to.
His eyes opened slowly.
The ceiling above him didn't move.
Didn't breathe.
Didn't feel alive.
An hospital.
For a moment, he didn't react.
Then—
Laughter.
Light.
Warm.
Real.
He turned his head slightly.
At the far end of the room—
Three boys.
Sitting together.
Laughing.
One leaned back in his chair.
Another nudged him.
The third—
Standing slightly apart.
But smiling.
Familiar.
Too familiar.
Cristiano's breath stopped.
"…Gia—"
The name almost left his lips.
But before it could fully form—
"Good, you're awake."
The voice cut through the moment like a blade.
Cristiano blinked.
The boys were gone.
The room was empty again.
Just white walls.
Machines.
Silence.
A doctor stood beside his bed, checking something on a clipboard.
Cristiano stared at where the boys had been.
Like if he looked long enough—
They would come back.
"They're not there."
The doctor said it casually.
Not even looking up.
Cristiano didn't respond.
The doctor sighed lightly.
"You hit your head pretty hard."
He flipped a page.
"And there's something else."
Cristiano finally shifted his gaze.
Slowly.
"What."
Not a question.
Just a word.
"You have a small issue."
The doctor tapped the paper.
"Heart-related."
Then he added:
"Also something irregular in your blood values."
Cristiano looked at him.
Expression empty.
"…Okay."
The doctor paused.
Waiting for a reaction.
There wasn't one.
Cristiano's eyes had already moved.
To the side of the room.
A small table.
A glass of water.
And next to it—
A bouquet.
Flowers.
Simple.
Colorful.
Alive.
He stared at them quietly.
Then spoke.
"Excuse me."
The doctor looked up again.
"…Yes?"
Cristiano tilted his head slightly.
"Can I have blue roses at my funeral?"
The question hung in the sterile air.
For a second—
The doctor just stared at him.
Then he laughed.
A light, dismissive laugh.
"You're very far from that."
Cristiano smiled.
Small.
Almost genuine.
Then he looked back at the flowers.
"…Blue roses don't exist in nature."
He spoke slowly.
Like thinking out loud.
"So why do I find them so beautiful?"
The doctor shook his head slightly, amused.
"You should focus on resting."
He reached into his pocket and pulled out a small container of pills.
"These will help."
He placed them on the table.
"Sleep, take your medication…"
He smiled casually.
"…and everything will fix itself."
Cristiano didn't answer.
The doctor gave one last look.
Then turned.
And left the room.
The door closed softly.
Silence again.
Cristiano stayed still for a moment.
Then—
Slowly—
He sat up.
The movement made his head spin.
But he didn't stop.
His feet touched the cold floor.
He stood.
Unsteady.
But standing.
His eyes moved around the room.
Searching.
Then he saw it.
A metal tray.
On it—
A scalpel.
Small.
Sharp.
Precise.
He walked toward it.
Each step slow.
Measured.
He picked it up.
The metal was cold against his fingers.
He looked at it.
Not afraid.
Not shocked.
Just… curious.
"…Don't cry for me."
He whispered it.
Like talking to someone who wasn't there.
Then—
He laughed.
A quiet laugh.
Soft.
Not broken.
Just… strange.
He placed the scalpel back down.
Carefully.
Exactly where it was.
Then he turned.
Walked back to the bed.
Sat down.
And lay back.
Still smiling slightly.
Still laughing under his breath.
As if something about all of this—
Made sense to him.
Even if nothing actually did.