“Ser, your tests came back.”
The doctor clicked his pincers in what I could only assume was supposed to be an encouraging gesture. The deep blue tone of his exoskeleton was thoroughly out of place in the sterile, white, clinical infirmary.
He almost reminded me of my home planet, his appearance reminiscent of an insect found there called a mantis. I hadn’t seen Earth in years. Planet Carbonem of the Rho Galaxy, as the Federation called it, named after the rare excess of carbon found there.
I felt a pang of sadness at the thought. I hadn’t felt Earth’s sun on my face in what felt like eons, and at this rate I never would again. I could feel my body growing weaker with every passing rotation.
“Ser?” Dr. Gromk broke my train of thought.
“The results?” I snapped back to reality, meeting his large, bloated orange eyes.
“The news is fresh, Ser James. You are in the best of health. You are not ill at all.”
“Bullshit.”
“Bull… shit?” The doctor tipped his head sideways in confusion at the English word. “What is this?”
“It means that you’re wrong.” I grit my teeth, trying to suppress the urge to strangle him. “You need to summon another doctor from the Federation. Someone that specializes in humans.”
“But, Ser-“
“I’m serious.” I abruptly stood, despite the pain that shot through me. “I’m dying. I need help. I don’t care what your test says. It’s wrong.”
I stormed out of the infirmary, trying to stay steady as I went towards my quarters. No one knew what was wrong with me. It was infuriating. I felt like I was going crazy. I hoped a bit of rest and a specialist would be enough.
I awoke with a start, struggling to breathe. Something was very wrong. My body was shutting down. I just prayed to whatever deity that was listening that I could make it through.
I tried to stand and my legs were too weak to hold my weight, collapsing back onto my bed. It was a strain to find my communicator in the dark.
“Summon Doctor to human qua…” I couldn’t even get the words out, dying for oxygen.
“He’s in perfect health. A perfect specimen.”
I tried to look around in the darkness at the unfamiliar voice.
“That’s what I concluded.” Dr. Gromk said, clicking in annoyance.
“Help…” My lungs burned as I forced the single word out. Why were they talking over me in the dark? Why couldn’t they see that it was all wrong? I was going to die and they would tell me that I was healthy into my grave.
“Ser, it is time to stop.” The new voice demanded. “I am a human specialist from the Federation and you are in excellent health.”
My breathing felt like flames in my lungs as I struggled to take in oxygen.
“Please… turn on the lights… look… I’m dying…” I pleaded desperately, starting to panic. I was only 43 earthen years old. I wasn’t ready to die.
“Ser, that is enough.” The new doctor said sternly. “I can see your eyes responding to the light clearly. It is time to stop the falsehoods. You are healthy.”
I hesitated, feeling the complete and total distress in my stomach. I was blind. My muscles were too weak. I could barely breathe. I was going to die here, on a ship thousands of light years from any other humans, surrounded by aliens that were insisting I was healthy right into my grave.
Life certainly was bullshit.
I always hated hospitals.
They were too clean. Sterile. Unfeeling. Like a robotic, ever present guard, holding you captive. They always pretended you had a choice. As if they would let you leave. As if it wasn’t a prison. At least prisoners get to go outside.
I haven’t left my room in months. They barely let me even get out of bed. Apparently there’s a point you reach where they decide you aren’t healthy enough to use the bathroom anymore. As if my body couldn’t handle it. As if letting my muscles waste away from being stagnant was going to make me stronger. As if the chemo hasn’t already killed every part of me in addition to the cancer.
I listened to the soft beeping of the machines that all held me together. It was constant. Incessant, really. But despite that, it was comforting. Me and my robots, all fighting for nothing.
I was going to die. I knew that. I’ve known for years. Since I was a little girl and they found the first infected cells. It used to be a battle. Now, it was a tragedy.
I was done fighting a long time ago. Even my family was over it. I get one sad visit from my mom every few weeks. All she does is cry. It used to hurt, but now I can’t even sympathize anymore.
I’m the one that’s dying. I’m 17 years old and I’m dying. Not only that, but I was dying alone. No family, no friends, not even a freaking nurse. I guess no one wanted to sit around and watch a kid die.
Just myself and my machines. And the sleep paralysis demon in the corner.
I named him Vincent.
He was always just out of sight, but I could hear him breathing. He watched and waited, always hidden within the shadows. He was watching even now, I could almost see him in my peripherals. A hooded stare here, the swish of his cloak there.
I glanced over at his corner and hesitated. He was there. Still mixing into the shadows, but much more defined than ever before. He was taller than I expected, towering almost to the ceiling.
His cloak was long and dark, mixing with the shadows. I watched him shift, moving closer. His hood was drawn, hiding his face. I felt his eyes on me, boring a hole into me. My attention was drawn by the tall staff he held with a large, curved blade.
“Took you long enough.” I cracked a wry smile as I recognized him.
“I arrive precisely on time.” His voice was low and even, almost sounding bored.
I felt my breath catch as the machines started to go wild. They faded into nothingness as I watched the scythe cleave me apart.
I watched memories of my life speed around me at a rapid pace. Every part of my life was a mistake. I was never meant to be born.
“Are you ready to depart?” Death’s tone didn’t change, still as even and calm as ever, amid the pieces of my memories. He snapped me back to reality.
“Yeah, I guess.” I** **looked back at my body. It looked so frail and small without me in it. A shell of who I used to be.
“I never belonged here anyway.”
