"Ah… to see myself in this situation. How unfortunate of me," the tired man said, lying in the hospital bed.
"It might be because you spent your life writing such lengthy ones," I replied, adjusting the flowers in the vase by the window.
"Is that really what you have to say to a fellow writer on his deathbed?" he chuckled.
"I never really committed to writing an entire novel, though…"
"But those hundreds of drafts you sent me… they were amazing. They could take the world by storm as masterpieces," he said.
"You're overestimating me, sir. All I wrote is trash compared to what you produce."
"Don't be harsh on yourself. In the future, you might need to really build your commitment to finish something whole."
"I do hope the time comes, sir… but it was never really worth it."
The man slowly raised himself into a sitting position, scrambling through his bag on the desk beside the hospital bed.
He pulled out a thick book and five blank pages.
"Here. Take this," he said.
"What is it?" I asked.
"It's the complete version of the book. I hope you'll really finish reading it for me."
"And the five pages?" I asked, curiosity tinged with hesitation.
"Write something on them," he said. "But I'd prefer you write your resolve… like an oath or something."
"You do know it'll probably take me a week just to think of what to write on these pages."
"It's a writer's dying wish," he said. "For one reader to immerse himself in my work, to find it updated even if he doesn't fully read it. Despite the difficulty, I hope he tries."
"I… I apologize for the trouble," I murmured.
"Don't be," he replied gently.
He continued, his voice softer now." My time is up, I can feel it… Reach the ending for me, will you? I hope this second chance rebuilds you as a person."
Then, he reached out and patted my head lightly before lying back, closing his eyes in peaceful sleep. I already knew this was his last act before passing.
The hospital seemed to fall silent as his breath ceased. Nurses and doctors recorded his time of passing. And now, I was left to fulfill his dying wish. Somehow.
Outside, it was a wish from a stranger. Inside, it was the wish of an author who had committed his life to creating worlds for others to escape the cruelty of reality.
I held the book in my arms, along with the five blank pages tucked inside it.
As I looked up at the sky while leaving the hospital, I couldn't help but think:
The world seems to mourn your death, sir…
Tears from the heavens fell as rain, reflecting how the community he had built reacted upon hearing the news. They were mourning the death of their world's creator.
An unfortunate ending for the author of vast, sprawling worlds.
I called for a taxi and headed home though it wasn't really my home.
It was a small apartment I had rented, though the landlord had given it to me free of charge after I helped him during a power outage when I first arrived. A small favor, but it had turned into something grand.
I had left my hometown hoping to start something new in my life, but even in a new environment, some things remained the same.
I tried joining clubs, but I never made the cut. I kept failing one simple requirement: the requirement of always being present.
I did my studies, and all of my results were average not bad, but nothing worth celebrating.
I arrived at my apartment complex and stepped into my room.
I placed the book on my desk, along with the five blank pages.
Write something… that's like an oath to me?
Is there even something I could write as a resolution?
I peered into the mirror beside me.
The same eyes kept greeting me…Telling me that what I do won't matter in the grand scheme of things.
I've tried music, acting, sports, even combat. I've done poetry, writing… programming… and much more.
Yet even with all that, I don't feel like I've gained enough to be someone who deserves recognition.
What's the point of having all these skills if I can't use them… or even enjoy them?
I'm inside a cage where the gate is wide open…And yet, why won't I choose to step out? How bizarre is that?
As much as I wanted to ponder what to write, I realized there was no need to rush.
I glanced at the book.
It was strange… somehow, looking at it, I felt compelled to open it.
The urge to read it… I had never felt that before.
Dying wish…
It doesn't hurt to try, I guess.
I opened the first page.
Immediately, my head felt like it had been struck by something heavy, and all I could see was darkness…
Darkness…
The cold pavement… wait, pavement?
My body lay cold as raindrops fell from the gray sky.
The wet stone pressed against my cheek, sharp and unyielding.
A burning sting raced across my chest, spreading deep inside, while a sudden throb on my forehead made the world tilt.
My breath came ragged, each inhale sharp as if it were slicing through me.
Beneath me, red streaked and pooled with the rainwater, mingling into a dark, sticky canvas.
Am I… dead?