Fiction and reality can never truly meet. The line that separates these two concepts is clear. Fiction must rely on reality to define its existence, yet reality stands tall, unyielding, and unmistakable; it leans on nothing. I have always believed this rule to be unfair. As fiction knows no limits. Anything we desire can exist, freedom in its purest form. The poor can become rich. The rich can grow even richer. These limits are only in reality. That is why the line must remain.
The question that kept lingering in my mind for years was how to erase that line. There had to be a way for fiction to eventually be real. I spent those long, exhausting years creating a remedy for my ailment. A story that could cross that impenetrable line.
I sank deep into the abyss of my thoughts only to be pulled back by the footsteps and chatter echoing from the hallway. The breeze gently scraped across my nape as I sat upright, awaiting those footsteps that rapidly got harsher.
For some unexplainable reason, I was in a much better mood than normal. I glanced over to a small drawer as I tried to escape the grasp of my bed, only to be pulled back by its suffocating embrace.
A slight disappointment crept onto my lips, only to vanish as a man with a white coat, shrouded from shoulder to feet. There was a short woman beside him pushing around a table with the ease of her fingers. She turned around and slowly closed the door.
A faint noise escaped from my mouth, "Can you please grab my notebook and pencil for me?" She walked over, opened the drawer, and handed me the items I requested. I gave her a warm smile to show my appreciation.
"Ahem," the man had coughed to make his presence in the room clear.
I opened my notebook and quickly glanced over to him, acknowledging him.
"I believe you're fully aware what I'm about to say", he said, grabbing an iPad from the desk. "We will monitor your condition and help manage the pain today. We will provide oxygen to help ease your breathing. If you feel stressed, please inform us so we can give you sedatives," he spoke with an indifferent expression as if these same lines were uttered a thousand times.
"Hey doc, is today really it?" I asked in a curious tone.
"Yes, from the estimate we gathered, your body won't be able to function any longer." I could see a small glimpse of sadness from the doctor, "we tried everything we could," a slight pause as he looked down, flipping through his paper. "I'm sorry".
"Don't be sorry, doc," I smiled, trying to console him.
"Hey doc, what do u think exists beyond this reality?"
"Do you think maybe there's another world after this? I hope it has magic, and that I can shoot fireballs out of my hands, maybe I might be able to even create an ice castle as big as a continent, " I beamed, smiling like a kid who was lost in a dream. All I could ever do was dream. For the past 10 years, I have been stuck in this same world.
The world was my hospital room; I didn't necessarily hate it. At some point, I decided that if this were my world, I would create a world of my own. It took me 7 years to write this book, and today I would finally be able to complete this world and bring it to life.
"Not sure, but if somewhere like that existed, take a step forward with all the strength you can." The doctor gave me a small but warm smile.
The one person who had been with me for the longest was him; every week, we would talk about my book, and I shared my countless ideas with him. Even if this was my end, I was still happy to spend my last moments with him.
"Hmm, one step forward..." I grabbed my chin, deep in thought, then it clicked as if a lightbulb had switched on in my head. I opened my book to the last page and wrote down those very words.
'One step forward.'
Now all that was left was to end my story. I contemplated how I would end the story, flicking my pencil on my forehead. Then my grip began to slip. My arm dropped hard onto the bed, and my head fell onto the side, as if the weight of everything finally caught up to me. My back went limp as I collapsed.
I tried to yell from shock, but nothing was coming out. I realized then that it had been time. What a sad, pathetic life I lived. As those dark thoughts filled my head, a life full of regrets, one regret stood above the rest. The regret of not finishing my book.
My consciousness was slowly drifting. I saw in the corner of my eyes the nurse holding her mouth, holding back tears, and my doctor watching with calm, smiling eyes.
"Have a long rest," he said as a smile settled across his face.
My world had turned pitch black.
***
The darkness extended endlessly; this was his first thought when scanning his surroundings. A painful sting struck his head as he started to recall the details of his fragmented memories. He focused on the dark void, tilting his head from one side to another until a glow caught his eye. Just like a moth attracted to the flame, he rushed towards his salvation, trying to get rid of the suffocating darkness.
And there he saw the boy. Naked and hunched, protecting what was inside him as if releasing it would mean his death. There was a glow coming from near the boy's stomach. This single glow was the only thing remaining, the single point of light in the blackness. The area contained neither warmth nor coldness, making the boy's position even more unusual.
He gave a nervous shiver at such a picture and became lost in thoughts of his next actions. He approached the boy and was stopped by some sort of invisible barrier. Grabbing its edge, he tried pulling it but started sweating profusely.
A static storm took over him, paralyzing his body completely. Nothing else seemed to matter except for his eyes, looking towards the source of this phenomenon. He saw a faint silhouette of a mouth in the darkness. The speaker sounded like static in his ears, and it was impossible to tell if it came from a man or a woman.
And suddenly the world narrowed down to a single point, absorbing everything that surrounded him. He closed his eyes, and as they opened, the scenery changed around him.
His vision widened and filled with endless light. Coming after such darkness, this sudden illumination burned his eyelids. He raised his hand, covering his eyes.
Eventually, he was able to see everything. His first object of sight was the red curtains near the left edge of his vision.
Glancing to the right, he saw where all this light originated from. A window made of metal decorated with intertwining circles creating an image of flowers. Taking a second to look at this marvelous craftsmanship of his unknown creator, he was unhappy with the intensity of light that prevented him from admiring his creation.
He slowly rose from the bed and brushed off the bits of snowflakes from his eyelashes. Everything was not normal; this room did not belong to him. Having been in a hospital bed throughout his life, everything other than white excited him. He started loving every other color except for white.
As he continued surveying his surroundings, he became fascinated with the design of the room. Everything seemed to be deliberate. This room was something he would never have been able to afford because of the luxurious look it gave.
Having gotten tired of observing the room, he turned to observing himself. He was too pale and frail to have ever tasted what a good meal is all about. The bony structure protruded, providing evidence of his skinny wrists. His heaviest weight was the pressure he was feeling.
The footsteps became increasingly louder, leading his attention towards the door. After stopping momentarily, two knocks followed by a small creak signaled the entrance of someone into the room.
A woman entered the room. She had black hair that framed her face, and her face was devoid of any expression. She was dressed in black and white; both colors seemed to have some sort of battle within themselves. Likewise, she was tall and natural in posture. As soon as she saw him, she dropped the tray she was holding, resulting in her looking shocked yet happy and fearful at the same time.
"An unusual combination of emotions," he said to himself.
"Master Orion is awake," the maid screamed.
Orion was a name that felt familiar, yet the more he searched for that name in his memories, the only thing that was left was a sharp sting in his mind. He was struggling to remember anything about what he was. What he was doing here and where he came from. A lot of these questions began forming in his mind.
The one thing he could deduce was that his name was Orion.
The footsteps from earlier multiplied as a group formed in front of his doorway. There stood a woman looking at him with eyes filled with relief.
"My son, you're finally awake," she went on. "Thank the heavens my prayers have finally been heard."
Left dumbfounded, he looked at her, grabbing his brain, trying his best to recall anything that related to this strange woman. From what she was saying, she was the mother of Orion or him. She came closer; her figure was elegant with clothes that screamed wealth. She grabbed his head and gently laid it down onto the bed.
"Don't stress yourself, my love; I will help you slowly remember everything."
He glanced in her direction and spoke.