"You're fine, Ms.Kennith," the doctor repeated, repeating the same mantra as the ones before him. "Have you tried the new anxiety meds your last physician prescribed you?"

"No," I replied dully. They always had an answer for my symptoms. Anxiety, depression, hormones, stress, "being a woman". How many times do I have to be rushed to the ER for them to take me seriously? "They won't work."

"Well, you can't know that till you try," He replied enthusiastically, making me angrier.

"I have tried. In fact, I've tried over thirty different prescriptions from multiple different clinics. You'd think one would have worked by now if the problem was what you said it was."

"My Apologies, Ms.Kennith," He smiled tightly and stood up straighter. "How about you try these, then return if you don't respond to them."

I nod my head silently. It's becoming pointless to argue back now. No one listens. I'm pretty sure most doctors I've seen think I'm a hypochondriac. I've had a few tell me, to my face, they thought I was an attention seeker. It's crazy that they've all been through years and years of med school yet can't tell that the person in front of them is actively dying.

Docter Smith returns to the room with my information to check out and a new prescription. One that I will not be picking up. After checking out I head home. Going about my everyday life.

Which includes lying around for the most part. I have no energy to do anything else. I've lost the will to continue my hobbies, watch TV, or leave the house. I just sleep all day.

The only human interaction I get now is from my elderly neighbor. She's the only one who believes that I'm sick. She was a nurse for forty years before the profession took such a toll on her body that she had to retire. She'll bring food over every day and we'll eat dinner together.

I grab the thick, fluffy blanket and head over to my couch. Falling down on top of the memory foam cushions I swing the warm blanket over my body and close my eyes.

I'm so tired of everything. Tired of the doctors not believing me. Tired of my family telling me to go to therapy because the sickness was just "in my head".

My head throbs for a couple of seconds and I can feel my heart start to race, but I don't think anything of it. I can't do anything about it anyway, so I go to sleep.

I didn't know that I wouldn't wake up. I didn't know that Mrs.Henry would find my unconscious body on the couch. Covered by the white fluffy blanket.

I didn't know that I would be rushed to the ER, but this time doctors would believe me. I also don't know if it's too late for that.

Blue and red spots danced in front of my eyes as I lay still on the hospital bed. My vision was blurred, I heard distinct conversation and the beeps of my heart monitor. A doctor walked into my room, a clear grimace on her face. ¨Am I going to be okay?¨ I tried sitting up but failed, my frail body struggling to carry its own weight. Her frown immediately changed to an obviously fake smile. ¨You were never not okay sweetheart! It´s just placebo. here take this.¨ She placed a cup of water on my bedside table. I mutter a small thanks and she leaves. Just placebo. The words echoed through my mind. Something is wrong with me and I was the only person who seemed to notice. I knew they were hiding something from me. I took the glass of water and gulped it down. I sigh heavily. What if I closed my eyes?.. A wink of sleep. Just for a moment.. The heart monitor immediately goes asystole. ¨Goodbye sweetheart!¨ The doctor smiles.

“To think she’d collapse like that.” A voice echoed through the darkness. “And during the new governor’s acceptance speech too.” Another voice answered as something loosened its grip on my arm. “These are normal too. Do you think it was due to stress?” “Had to be.” The first voice said. I could recognize it as female now. “Governor Woodrow brought in all sorts of doctors to do tests. And they’re all coming back as normal.” “If that were the case she should’ve woken up by now.” This voice was decidedly male. “It’s been 48 hours already.” I tried to open my eyes, but the darkness remained. That’s when I felt the cold weigh down on me like never before. It was even worse than when this happened during the war. And I didn’t have a big blanket covering me then. Or an IV stuck in my arm. I could even hear the machine beep in time with my heartbeat. “Do you think it’s because she’s not a Natural?” The lady half whispered. The guy scoffed. “The Laden may have unnatural gifts but that doesn’t make their biology any different from ours. I think that’s what’s got everyone stumped. Her body is perfectly fine. No injuries. No malnourishment. And not a single drop of poison in her system either.” “Then it must be true.” The lady sounded excited now. “Please tell me you’re not reading into what those tabloids have to say.” “Just think about it. Governor Woodrow had just announced her engagement to his son. But just weeks before she was seen dating Raymond Lagorio.” “He’s Mayor Lagorio now. And he even said that they were broken up when the reporters caught up to him during the chaos.” “Yeah, I’ve seen that clip too. And he doesn’t look well.” He sighed. “You’re point.” “I think it was a ploy to keep the Laden community happy. You know having one of their kind so close to the new governor. And she only agreed to the marriage to keep the peace. Only she didn’t tell Raymond. And did you see how destroyed he looked when the governor announced the news. That can’t be a coincidence. So, I think that Governor Woodrow is keeping them apart for his own gain.” “What does this have to do with her condition?” She huffed. “Obviously she’s suffering from a broken heart. I would be too if I was forced to choose between my love and my people.” “You’ve watched way to many movies.” “We’ll do you have a better theory?” Her voice moved closer. “Because if it was stress she’d be awake by now.” I tuned out their bickering, hating how close she was to hitting the mark. Only we’d never officially broken up. Instead I’d been the one to break his heart after sending his father to jail on a bogus charge. But I had to keep Chief Woodrow happy. Or Governor now. Not that it made a difference. He still had power over the police through his son who’d taken his spot as chief. Poor Lee was stuck in the middle of this. He’d tried to help me but at the same time he couldn’t deny his father. “What are you two doing in here?” A new voice entered. “You’ve got other patients to look after. So stop your jabbering and get to work.” The door shut as the voices faded away. And I was acutely aware of how much colder it was now that the two nurses were gone. It weighed on me, seemingly emitting from the hole in my heart. The hole that my gift had filled before it was stolen. From then on I’d been nothing but a loyal dog forced to betray my own. I’d not only killed them. But stolen their gifts to fill my empty soul. And forced them to serve Agrona as they conquered our land. Lee had been by my side through most of it. And he’d helped me get a few Laden out before I was forced to hunt them down. For any unnatural abilities belonged to the Agrona government alone. I’d almost given up hope until Cedric entered the picture. He’d been turned Elite like Lee. Only he had a mind to go with it. Every plan he made came to pass. And he continued helping the Laden in secret even after joining the police station with the rest of the soldiers who’d survived the war. His latest plan was the longest yet. And involved me doing some gruesome things for Chief Woodrow. I had to earn his trust after all. So, I didn’t bat an eye when he ordered me to get close to the Lagorios. Ray was just a lawyer then, along with his father. But they were successfully turning the tide in favor of the Laden. Albeit slowly. But when Ray began a successful campaign to become Mayor, Chief Woodrow could no longer stand it. And once again my skills were put into play. But instead of stealing his Laden abilities, he wanted proof that his family was helping Laden fugitives leftover from the war. As if they’d leave that information lying around their penthouse. But he was different from other guys I’d dated. Even the ones I pretended to for the job. He was honest and open about everything. And a true romantic at heart. Every week flowers would be delivered to my desk at the police station. And he always took time out of his busy schedule to arrange dates for us. Sometimes we’d just hang out at the Lagorio penthouse with the rest of his family. Or just in his room which was practically a suite on its own. The penthouse took up the whole top floor of the condo. So it was a pain to search. Especially since each of his four siblings usually locked their suites when they were gone. Only his father consistently forgot to. Though it wasn’t until we made love for the first time that I got my chance. Ray was passed out. And thankfully he’d made sure no one was coming back that night. So, I’d continued my search of his father’s office. That’s when I found the tablet he’d left behind. It wasn’t even password protected. And there was the perfect evidence. Not enough to incriminate him permanently. But enough for him to be detained for a time. And that’s the opening that Cedric needed for his plan to start rolling. But I couldn’t get back in bed with him. My guilt was too heavy. So, I’d left. Since then I’d avoided his texts and phone calls. And my coworkers had barred him from entering the station. I was certain he knew that I’d visited his father in jail. And that I’d stolen his gift of telepathy for Cedric’s use. Sure he’d gotten his father out of jail a day later. But a Laden without their natural born gift was just empty. And that’s what I was. An Empty. No matter how many gifts I stole it couldn’t keep away the cold I felt. Nor could it feel the void my gift had left behind. That’s why my health was fading. I’d given the last stolen gift to Cedric. So there was nothing to keep the cold at bay. I could only lie frozen as the cold sapped at what was left of my life. Hopefully it was worth it. Maybe my dying is what Cedric’s plan needed. Maybe having a martyr would make the government grant more rights to the Laden. Or at least give them the push they needed to take it for themselves. It hurt to breathe now. Like I was inhaling shards of ice. Even the IV was doing nothing but pushing cold fluids through my veins. It would be over soon. “She’s dying.” A new voice said. “Saves me the trouble of having to kill her.” Another grumbled. I recognized this one. It was one of Ray’s older sisters, Eimi. The bed dipped as someone sat beside me. And a warm hand touched my chest. It’s Laden power called to me. And it took everything in me not to take it. To create another Empty like me seemed pointless. “What the hell are you doing?” Eimi shouted. The other woman shushed her. “We don’t need anyone else joining us.” “And I can’t risk you dying.” Eimi argued in a lower voice. The woman chuckled. “It’ll take more than this to kill me.” “Dina.” Eimi groaned. That name. She had to be talking about Ray’s second older sister. The one I’d never met. Though he’d always spoken of her with awe, she was asleep most of the time I’d visited. “Looks like they took the core of her soul. She’s been borrowing other gifts to keep death away. But she’s empty now. Perhaps…” Her voice trailed off. Eimi huffed. “Can you do whatever it is on the road. The nurses will come back any minute.” “No she won’t survive the journey. Your shadows are too cold for her.” “Then at this point you should let her die so you can do that necromancy thing.” “It won’t work with part of her soul missing.” Dina pressed down on my chest and warmth started to seep into my skin. “Then-“ Dina cut her off. “Watch the door. And don’t interrupt.” Eimi grumbled but didn’t say anything else. I couldn’t even focus on her as Dina’s power flooded my heart. My control broke and I sucked in her gift. But unlike other Laden her gift resisted my will. It was like trying to take a gift from another Empty. It didn’t work unless it was given willingly. The gentle warmth turned into scorching heat. Like a fireball had settled in my chest. And my heart in turn pumped that heat through my bloodstream. The ice that had frozen me to the spot rapidly melted away. And I blinked up at Dina’s face for the first time. “How…?” I started. “I was able to anchor your soul back to your heart. But it’s only temporary. You’ll get just a few days more I think.” “Great. Can we go now?” Eimi asked backing away from the door. Dina didn’t answer her. But she kept her eyes on me. “Do you want to come back with us?” “You’ve got to be kidding me.” Eimi said. I looked away. “She’s right. After everything I’ve done I should stay as far away from your family as possible.” “Is that what you want?” Dina asked. “It doesn’t matter what I want.” It never did. “I’ve seen many lost souls in both the living and the dead. All of them hampered by regret and despair. And Ray will become one of them if you don’t talk things out.” “I doubt he’ll want to see me.” I said. “We don’t have time for this.” Eimi said stomping over. “Look Ray’s been trying to get in touch ever since you left. And when he heard the doctors weren’t helping you he sent us. So yeah he can’t stop thinking about you and really wants to see you.” My heart began to beat faster. But could I really hope? After everything I’d done? And what about Cedric’s plan? Would it be ok if I left? “Make a decision.” Eimi pushed. Steps were echoing outside. “It’s ok, Zinnia.” Dina said. “Just follow your heart.” The steps were getting closer. And the shadows around Eimi deepened. They stretched toward Dina who still sat on my bed. She reached out a hand to me. I hesitated for a moment as Eimi became nothing more than a shadow slowly enveloping Dina. Only her hand was left. And I grabbed it.

Back home after another sleepless night at the A&E. Of course I was classified blue. By the time they saw me, the morning sun was coming in almost perpendicularly. Everything is fine, apparently, I must be imagining my excruciating leg pain. Next time, I might as well suffer sleeplessly at home than on some squalid plastic chair in a drafty room. Horizontal vs vertical agony.

Another week of nonstop torment. My leg won’t let me rest, it’s all I can think about, day and night. But especially at night. Doctor says it should settle soon, as he can find nothing wrong with it. Small victory: I was prescribed physiotherapy. I wish I could go today, but guess what, I need to wait one week for my first appointment.

My leg is now a throbbing rod of lead. I need to drag it across the floor, which of course amplifies the pain and extends it over a longer period of unsteady steps. The physiotherapist has twisted my leg in all sort of ways, and said that despite my visible discomfort, my joints look very healthy. I feel like I should congratulate myself for such healthy physique. But I’m still aching really badly, so one for another day.

I was assigned a bunch of physio exercises to “ease the discomfort”. If anything, and if you can believe it, my pain has gotten worse. In the past few days, I’ve noticed — unless my hollowed eyes are also failing me — that it’s acquired a slightly purple tinge. Time for a dermatologist appointment.

I think I might need to get my eyes checked, after all. The dermatologist said both my legs look absolutely fine. She can’t see any colour differences between them, and said they both have a very healthy hue. That’s quite reassuring, but I’m also pretty sure my left leg is getting purpler by the day. I was given some hydrating cream to help ease my alleged pain.

Totally non consequential, but I also made a point of getting my eyes checked. My vision is 20/20 on both eyes. I’m the picture of health.

After my nth visit to my physiotherapist, I was advised on the challenges of chronic pain, that is, how the brain can trick us into feeling pain even when there are no physical symptoms. In the meantime he didn’t seem to want to acknowledge the fact that my left leg is now dark purple. I brought my eye test results with me, but he didn’t want to see them either. I think it’s time to sign up to a mindfulness meditation course.

Turns out, it’s quite hard to learn how to be mindful when one of your leg is dynamite. Observe your pain, they say, but it feels more like I’m a speck of dust slowly coasting the mouth of the event horizon of a reality-eating agony. This sounds way cooler than it is, by the way. Either way, I believe I’ve reached enlightenment: I will pay for private healthcare.

My private GP seems to have acknowledged that my leg is now almost black. By “acknowledged” I mean that he didn’t tergiversate, immediately change topic, or leave the room. Nope, I’m the proud owner of my very first prescription: paracetamol.

It looks like there is such thing as death by paracetamol overdose. Oh, and by the way, I forgot to mention that I’ve been actually dead all along. But things have turned out well after all: my leg pain is gone, in fact, I no longer have a leg, or a body. But I feel so healthy.

Beeep…. Beeeep …Beee—

The phone picked up erupting with uproarious laughter and inaudible chatter, making Alex almost jump. He felt a twinge of envy and a mix of gloominess as he closed the door behind him.

"'Sup Alex?" Avery perked up.

“My life…” he tossed his phone on the bed.

“What?”

“Nothing... ” he plopped down, the mattress gently sinking.

"Hold on a sec. I'll head to my room." her voice blended with the liveliness in the background.

Alex took a cold, deep breath as he heard the noises slowly die. A door slammed shut declaring her solitude.

"Phew!" Avery huffed, "Boy, is it noisy down there..."

His grip on the phone tightened. Must be nice to be a part of a lively group, immersed in joy, without having death knocking at your door as a constant reminder. A wave of guilt hit him immediately.

"You there?"

"Yeah! yeah..." He quickly added, "What's the occasion?"

"Urghhhhhh" She groaned, "Don't ask. Mama Papa celebrating their aniversario. It's like a circus down there with all the invitados!"

"Uh huh..." Alex reached for his nightstand, dipping into the soft mattress.

"If I hear ONE MORE MARIACHI, I'm gonna scream." She sighed dramatically.

Alex let out a hollow laugh, drained of real joy as he listened to her vent. He stretched his hand, his fingers almost touching the drawer.

"What were you doing? Had called ya earlier. You didn't pick up."

Alex's hand froze. "I... I was at the doctor's..."

"Oh..."

An uneasy silence hung on both ends of the line. Alex imagined Avery shuffling in her seat, suddenly finding comfort in the faint mariachi playing downstairs.

"I see..." She finally spoke, "How did it go?"

"They said to continue to take my meds, and I'll be fine." He finally pulled open the drawer. The sight of neatly arranged boxes of tablets made him want to yank it out and hurl it through the window.

"Well, that's good..."

“Is it? 'Cuz I know they’re clearly— They're clearly lying!” Alex’s voice cracked from the weight of his frustration. His sheets crinkled as he sat up.

Avery took a pause, leaden with unknown fear. "Hey..."

Alex slid back until the wall pressed against his back. Its coolness seeped into him as if trying to soothe his riled-up nerves.

"What happened?"

"Heard the adults talk..." He drew his knees close to his chest. The tablet packet crinkled sharply in his hands. "They said my heart's only working at 40% efficiency"

Avery breathed a shaky sigh into her phone. "Alex, maybe It's not-"

"Don't, Avery." Alex swallowed hard, the taste of his vexation bitter in his throat. "It's not like your life is dangling on a thread..."

"Listen up, Chase!" Avery's tone was sharp, making him flinch, "**_That's how everybody's lives work! I'm as likely to die as you are. The ceiling could collapse on me, a sniper could shoot me in the eye-

pfft- I could even fall off the stairs and hit my head!

Are you listening, tonto?_**"

'I- Yes" He stammered, shaken up by her sudden change of tone, "It was just... overwhelming..."

"It- It's the same for all of us, Alex!" Avery fired up, her frustration mingled with the weight of acceptance, "And watching you give up is the worst! You've got a problem, we tackle it head-on! lo entiendes, amigo?"

"You're right, Guess I didn't see it comi-"

"Sí mama?!" Her voice was pulled back downstairs, giving Alex some space to breathe. He picked his phone from the bed, relieved to find it hadn't overheated from Avery's fiery outburst.

She retuned back, muttering every possible angry-sounding spanish curses under her breathe. "Mama needs help. I've been summoned."

"I see…” Alex’s voice shook, in a poor attempt to mask his laughter. “Is it some emergency rescue mission or just doing the dishes?

“Ha-Ha. Very funny, Chase. Quit smirking, I can hear it from here” She grumbled, her voice laced with a hint of amusement. “Keep it up and I’ll send my madré after you!”

“Oh no no, Señora Avery!” He dramatically cried, picturing himself moping Avery’s living room, “Anything but that! Have mercy!”

“Mmhmm?” She hummed sarcastically as she neared the dreaded noises of the Mariachi.

“May the luck of the tortillas be with you!”

“You’re impossible!” She hung up, finally giving into a laughter as she did so.

Alex breathed out a sigh, the weight of his reality feeling lighter. Amidst his confusion and desperation, rose a new determination. He was going to fight his battle. And he definitely wasn’t going to give up.

I know how this feels. Everyday getting worse. Knowing something’s wrong. But being told you are just fine. Done.

She knew they weren’t telling the truth. She was too tired. Too slow. Too weak. It made her angry, being lied to. It made her feel small and helpless. She gritted her teeth as she lay in bed. They had made every effort to make her comfortable. When it has first come on, her and her husband had moved to her brothers property where he had access to the best healers. Her children visited often, bringing her tales of adventures from their travels across the globe. She loved them all. Her eldest daughter was staying with them currently, recovering from giving birth to twins. A knock sounded at the door, and she looked to see her brother standing there. His black hair peppered with grey, he walked with a slight limp. His usual adornments were absent, and he wore only black pants with a deep blue shirt. He sighed and sunk into a chair opposite her bed. “Hey,” she greeted him. He nodded without a sound. She picked up a pillow and threw it at him. “Ow!” He protested. “This is my room,” she told him. “If you’re going to act like a rock just do it in yours.” “Sorry,” he sighed, sitting up straight. He met her gaze. She was surprised to see tears in his eyes. “Its bad.” She said softly. The healer had been there a few hours earlier to check on her. But the healer hadn’t told her anything new. Simply assured her everything was fine and she’d take a turn for the better soon. “No.” Her brother barely got the words out. His voice was thick. “You’re going to be fine.” “I always knew I wasn’t going to live forever.” She dismissed it, scowling as he still tried to muster up a lie. The look she gave him as he opened his mouth made him close it again. She was done with the lying. “Do you need anything? Are you comfortable?” “I’m fine.” Her husband was bringing the rest of their possessions from their former home to her brothers residence as they spoke. He had been gone for nearly a week now, and should be back any time. He hadn’t wanted to go. That was her first clue that it was worse than the healers said. Another knock came at the door. They both looked over to see one of her grandchildren being escorted into the room. “Hello darling,” she patted the blankets beside her as he slowly walked into the room. “I’ll let you two have some time,” her brother nodded to her and stood, leaving them. “How are you on this lovely morning?” She asked her grandchild as he clambered up onto the bed and sat beside her. When he turned to meet her gaze, she saw the sadness in his eyes. “Do you hurt?” He asked softly. In that moment, he reminded her of another child she had watched grow up. They were so similar, she caught herself wiping her eyes. “No darling, I’m not in any pain.” She pulled him into a tight hug. When she let go, he was crying. “But mom said you’re getting worse.” The honesty hit her like a stone. She nodded. She couldn’t deny it. But looking into his big eyes, she knew what she had to do. “She’s only saying that because she’s worried. I’ll be better soon, so don’t you worry too. I promise, we’ll go flying and travel across the world together.” He had always been the most enthralled with the stories she had told her descendants of her younger days. Now his eyes lit up. “Really?” He asked breathlessly. “You bet.” She winked at him. “And for your birthday, I’ll take to you my favorite place of all.” She hadn’t known it was possible, but his eyes got even bigger. “For my birthday?!” He exclaimed excitedly, so loud she was sure others could hear. His birthday was only a month away. She looked down at her shaking hands, then up at him. “So you’d better be good until then, help you mother with your new siblings and listen to your father,” she reminded him gently. “I will grandma,” he promised, bowing his head for a moment. They talked for a while, he told her about the newest addition to the family, the twins, and she had to laugh as he mentioned how alike they already looked and confessed he was already mixing them up. He left the room with a spring in his step, and a smile on his face. She settled back into bed as exhaustion finally overtook her. When she drifted into sleep, one thought came to mind. Maybe sometimes, lying can be loving. She’d have to admit her worsening condition to him eventually. But for now, she would smile through the pain, and keep his spirits bright.

A cozy fire in the hearth crackled. Peach, pink, and tangerine, ribbons of light draped across Jared’s king sized comforter from his huge bow window. Vanilla sweetness of his award-winning night-blooming cerbeus plants scented his bedroom suite. Jared snorted himself awake. Face up he was starfished in a tangle of silkCracking open one eye, Jared groaned at the brightness. He could barely see for the gelatinous pus stretching in sticky strings on his eyelids. That was it, Jared decided that couldn’t possible face the day. He snuggled back into the warm pillow.

The door slid open and the smell of well roasted coffee and warm buttered croissants flooded his senses. His butler, Wednesday, laid a generous linen napkin over the mid-century occasional table and began setting up breakfast. Well I could get up to eat, Jared though. I hate crumbs in the bed but I am not leaving my room today. Not for anything Jared said to himself. Twisting gengerly in bed his legs landed on the floor with dissatifised cracks. Jared moaned into the artifical morning light.

“Good morning, Mr. Tate-Devereaux, it’s another beautiful day in paradise. Chef made us some wonderful things this morning, but I chose something light so not to over tax your system,” Wednesday said.

“I couldn’t bear anything heavy or greasy. The thought makes me light-headed. I tossed and turned all night,” Jared said shrugging into the robe Wednesay held for him .

Wednesday lent a firm arm to help Jared get on his feet. Heanswered with comforting “of course, of course,” as he poured Jared his coffee.

“I hope you like the custom rainbow I setup this morning instead of that trite clear blue sky from the HOA. It’s nice to shake things up, don’t you think, sir,” Wednesday said as he lifted the silver dome from a steaming plate of scrambled eggs, cucumber sugar beet salad, smoked salmon with fresh croissiants.

”No i did’n’t care for the rainbow, too bright, too much,” Jared said around a big mouthful of eggs. “What no bacon?”

“My apologies, sir, I’ll see to it. What do we have on the books today”?

Wednesday snapped his fingers and the warm colors blinked away to a standard blue. Jared tore one croissant asunder and dunked it in his coffee. With curt gestures, Wednesday adjust the brightness.

“I can’t today. I’m simply exhausted. I’m sure it’s my blood pressure or my blood sugar. Which one is the bad one, again?”

“Yes, it so important to keep your strength up. Don’t overdo,” Wednesday said. “The children drove to the school and Mrs. Devereaux was up at dawn to do her morning hike. The house is peaceful.”

Jared didn’t feel peaceful. His wife was eleven years his senior and obnoxiously healthy and vital. The thought of Gracie jog walking made him woozy. The butler was fluffing the sham pillows and turning up the bed. As a child Jared was delicate with a constant cough. In his teen years Jared became passionate over moto polo. With his family money and a solid team he was once a bright light. It was on the raceway he’s met Gracie. She loved his youth and vigor, or at least she used to. Now most of her time was spent on running the company and the children. Even though their boys were nearly grown there wasn’t much time for him.

Jared walked over to his mirror and frowned. His eyes were red. His joints all ached, which he was sure was an early sympthom of lukemia. With his ReJuven injections, Jared looked like a decent 35 year old or a rough 28. He still looked good, very good but it was all surface. His toned muscles were soft and meally. His tight tan skin sloughed aways Jared jiggled his stomachand checked out his ass. HummingWednesday laid out his clothing on the stand.

“Call Dr. Wen, see if I can push up my appointment to the top off my fillers. Then book an emergency appointment with Dr. Isaacson for this fatigue. I don’t care what anyone says this isn’t normal. I’m sure I’m coming down with something,” Jared wailed to the mirror. “And don’t thke no for an answer I pay too much to feel this sick all the time.”

The mirror called his primary care physican. Jared collapsed dramatically in his chair.

“Sir don’t forget you are lunching with Mrs. Devereaux at the Oombah. She invited you to the Flower Grower Association Dinner Planning blah blah blah,” Wednesday said.

The butler handed Jared an ivory cotton notecard with a scrawl from Gracie about this meeting and good PR. Jared leapt to his feet. She needed him. Wednesday held up a pair of summer suits.

“Pink or tangerine?"

I wake up, again with blurry vision, again with a foul taste in my mouth. Again I try to step from the side of my hospital bed in room 144 and collapse to the ground with knobby knees. Again I have to press the button for the nurses to come in and put me back in bed. Last week, I could walk; this week, I can’t even feel my legs. Soon, I won’t be able to feel my arms, either; I can sense that it’ll happen. No matter what I tell the doctor, though, no matter what my test results show, he assures me, a hand on my shoulder each time, that I’m “fine.”

If you could see me three years ago and today, you’d know I wasn’t fine. I am a shell of my former self, stripped of my ambitions, purpose, and energy.

Today, though, after the nurse put me back into bed, she accidentally left her notepad on my bedside table. She’d be back for it soon, I figured, so I grabbed it and flipped to the last page with writing.

_Keep Room 144 sedated. Doctors orders. Will die soon. _

At last. I knew they knew. Now, what to do with that information, besides die? Hm. I suppose it never mattered if they knew or not.

Yeah, a score I never signed up for. Doctors love the word fine. It’s clipped, dismissive, and vaguely authoritative—like a slammed gavel closing out a difficult case—_fine. _Full stop. Even as I’m sitting here, in a hospital by the way, sweat prickling at the back of my neck, feeling like something scraped from the bottom of a shoe. That’s where I’m at: David Marshall, age forty-five, being told for the third month in a row that I’m fine. Meanwhile, my body mutinies beneath my skin.

Here’s the scene: the clinic reeks of ammonia and despair. Dr. Dalby—whose only notable personality trait is a collection of aggressively patterned ties—stares at his clipboard like it accused him of something vile. I brace for the verdict. My muscles ache like they’ve been wrung out, my chest hums with a wheeze I’ve affectionately named Gerald, and just this morning, my legs threatened to buckle when I stood up too fast. But here we are again: bloodwork, scans, vitals—“perfect.”

“You’re perfectly healthy,” he says, removing his glasses like it’s some magician’s flourish. “Could be stress.”

Stress. It’s always stress. Modern medicine’s favorite catch-all. I could drag myself in here missing an arm, and someone would tell me to meditate.

“Stress makes me feel like this?” I ask, incredulous. My voice is tight, my fists curling in my lap. “Tired, breathless, sore? My lungs wheeze like they’re rehearsing for a solo in a jazz club.”

Dalby offers a nod so patronizing I half expect him to pat me on the head. “Movement helps with fatigue. Exercise more.”

I let out a brittle laugh. “I am moving. I climbed the stairs this morning in shifts like I was hauling bricks. I shuffle from room to room like a malfunctioning Roomba. I breathe real hard too, doc—feels like cardio just existing.”

His expression doesn’t crack. Doctors don’t laugh when they’ve run out of answers. Instead, they hand you a pamphlet on mindfulness or remind you to drink water, as though hydration is some cure-all miracle.

“Let’s keep monitoring things,” he says, offering vague reassurance like it’s a prescription.

I leave the clinic and shuffle toward my car, knees wobbling like a bad weld job, thighs burning like I just finished a sprint. The sunlight feels accusatory, like it’s mocking my limp. I slide into the driver’s seat, legs trembling from the effort, and grip the wheel until the shaking subsides. There’s no medal for this kind of endurance—just me, pretending I’m fine while my body keeps breaking down in ways no one can see.

Later that night, it happens again. I wake up gasping, chest gripped in a vice. My lungs seize, the air trapped somewhere between inhale and panic. I sit up so fast my ribs protest, hacking so hard it feels like my bones might crack. Gerald, my wheeze, sputters and whines like a kettle running out of steam. My fingers clutch the sheets, knuckles white. For a second, I think about the ER—imagining the fluorescent lights, the smell of antiseptic, the inevitable: “You’re fine. Just breathe.”

So I figured ‘why bother?’ and continued to sit in the dark instead, waiting. Counting heartbeats. Listening to the wheeze as it settles back into its corner like a sulking animal. Alive, I think. Technically.

The next morning, Dr. Dalby calls, chipper as ever. “Your test results look great! Heart, lungs—everything’s stable. Perfectly healthy.”

“Fantastic,” I mutter. “I’ll make sure to let my body know.”

I hang up and stare blankly at the wall, caught somewhere between relief and a quiet fury. I think about all the small betrayals: the popping knees, the drenched bedsheets, the way my legs tremble after ten minutes upright. I don’t need marathons or mountain climbing.

I just want to wake up and feel like a person again.

But maybe this is just the price of growing older. Forty-five feels like the point where you stop being unbreakable and start turning human—fragile in ways you never expected. So I keep eating salads, swallowing vitamins, and dragging myself from room to room like a relic trying to hold itself together. Gerald wheezes in my chest like clockwork, and I keep showing up at Dalby’s office, waiting for someone to call me something other than fine.

Until then, I’ll be here: a man held together by sheer force of will, living proof that you don’t need to die to feel like you’re falling apart.