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Lao catching me unguarded was a mistake that I should have looked out for. Receiving Eiji’s letter blinded those precious seconds for me; and although I would have preferred to read these without such fleeting thoughts, I can’t help but feel like how this was what things were supposed to be. Maybe. None of us would survive this, is what he said, and maybe he’s finally right.
I clutched the letters in my hands, dirtying uneven parts of it with my blood, as I ran to the nearest place that gave me comfort—the library. It’s the not the most glamorous place to die but this will do, I suppose. Quiet, sincere, I could read his message in peace. Choosing a place to sit down felt like choosing my own coffin. It was morbid in a way, but it was also calming. The chair near the window was right felt cold despite the rays of sunlight directly hitting it. There was no other thought in mind other than the consistent tugging of one single sentence in my head: This must be the last thing I see. Nothing matters so long as I remain undisturbed.
I eased myself down, careful not to exacerbate this wound I’m half nursing while trying to fight the urge to sleep. The pain made my vision blur for a moment, but my heart is calm, and the pain was not enough to distract me from my chosen task. I took what little time I had left and started from the beginning. The words had 'Eiji' written between them and I don't know if that is something to be sad about or not. The time I had with him was something I would not trade for no matter the cost. In such a short span of time, he meant something to--
As I strained my eyes to focus, I thought I had turned my back on looking out for danger in this rare vulnerable time; but I guess instinct remains even as I wait for the bitter embrace of death. I looked ahead beyond the rows of old books that towered high into the ceiling and saw the last person I expected to be here. “I must be losing it.” I muttered to myself as the figure went closer. Suddenly, everything was acute—the soft light from the wall-mounted lamps were harsh, the smell of the books gave a slight itch to my nose, the coolness of the library became a hard chill, and my tongue felt dry. “You can’t be here.” I muttered to myself once more as I weighed on the accuracy of what my dying brain was allowing me to see. An illusion, a waking dream, or a bitter reminder of what I would lose? Maybe all of them. Maybe.
Maybe. Ah, that word again, it pops up in my head a lot recently. Maybe he would live a more peaceful life without me. Maybe he’ll regain his peace if I was farther way. Maybe I could have joined him in Japan. Or maybe I’m delusional. Maybe.
I looked down on the papers I was holding, my vision blurry, but not because I’m losing all my senses, but because of tears. Real tears threatening to fall. I can’t remember the last time I felt this strong sting in my eyes, never thought I’d felt them now too. The paper ripped a bit as my fingers held on to them a little too tightly, like I could stay longer if I held on to these delicate fragile things.
“ASH!”
Children who had normal childhoods would say that the sound of the bell indicating recess is probably their most favorite time during school days. Friends can sit on any available desk chairs in the room and eat food together, maybe even gossip a little, and the cafeteria would be filled with other students who prefer to buy their lunch. As I did not have any childhood at all, I will never relate to that feeling of relief and joy that taking delicious breaks would give to a normal person. Despite such absence, hearing him call my name so loud and clear is probably the closest thing I can attribute to school bells. Loud and clear, his voice rang through my entire body and flooded me with so much relief that I felt, for a moment, that I could live a little bit longer or however this moment should last.
I decided to humor the illusion in front of me. Maybe I’ll still have enough strength to read the letter.
“Eiji? What are you doing here?” I gave the most aloof expression I could muster while I tried to hide my arm that’s keeping my wound from bursting all over the place. Well, it's technically all over the place already. “I...I thought u rode the plane back to Japan?” I thought of giving a little smile but decided against it. This is better. Maybe.
“I got a call from an unknown number and told me ‘Library.’ I couldn’t recognize them,” his voice started to crack, “but I knew for a fact that there’s only one person in this country that the word “library” would pertain to.”
My ears rang and my stomach fell. That combination of weird embarrassment and gratefulness enveloped me like an awkward hug. I didn't know what to say. What was there to say? Glad he made it to the viewing? I opened my mouth to try and say something, but he butted in before I could think of anything smart to say.
“The paramedics are coming in. Please don’t fight this anymore.” His shoulders started to shift a little and I noticed his fisted hands. My eyes went straight to his face and noticed how hard he was trying to keep the tears from free flowing. One broke free though, and he quickly wiped it off before any more could follow. Watching his body while I listened to the words he was not saying, I noticed that he wasn’t looking at me but towards something that’s on me. Perhaps my weirdly angled arm, or the blood that stained the letters I grasped so hard like a lifeline. When will this surreal moment end? There’s a more important matter at hand.
I looked down on the table staring at nothing in particular but suddenly aware of footsteps and voices coming our way. Like a prayer in the direst of times, they were getting stronger and soon, the room would feel like an echo-chamber with the scent of disinfectant, car perfume, and the sight of a stretcher. How many times have I been hospitalized now? I can't remember them anymore. Even in my wildest delusions, I still hoped that Eiji would find me and somehow, a deity must have favored me because he did. There was no answer, right or wrong, to be said, so I focused my entire attention--or what's left of it--on the letter again. Maybe the illusions will go away once I try to focus on something else. One blink was all it took before the words were suddenly replaced with the beautiful ceiling of the library. Muted colors flooded their way through my eyes and yet, I still grasped those papers like my life truly depended on them. I looked to my right and saw Eiji’s dirty sneakers. The same sneakers he wore when he first arrived. The same pair of shoes he would continue to wear while he fought those unnecessary battles. Those sneakers. My illusions would paint him in cleaner, newer, fresher clothes. Is he real? Is this real?
A feeling down my spine and I turned to my left. A person that wasn’t there before I arrived and after I sat down was seated two tables away from me. Nobody seemed to notice him, or perhaps, nobody seemed to recognize him. He was a slender man with black hair tied to a bun wearing plain clothes, and had a phone placed neatly on his left, most likely a disposable. A newspaper was held close to his face leaving his eyes exposed. He stared at me like he knew me, and he would be right because he does. He smiled a sinister smile and mouthed the words, “This isn’t your end,” before standing up and going towards the opposite direction.
Yut Lung.
He left as discreetly as he came, and no one even realized. I knew what he meant and I sure as hell am sure that he is not part of whatever dying illusion I was having earlier. No, this is real. I looked over to my right and saw Eiji talking with a paramedic, his arms stiff beside him, probably fighting tears. What a cruel reminder of the alternative, a world where he could cry, and I would not know. I looked up to the ceiling as I let them do what they had to do. A small smile escaped my lips but the grip I had on the letters never once faded.
“I guess I’ll have more time to read these then.” I said to no one in particular, but I knew Eiji heard. His head swiftly turned to my direction. Painted across it is an expression no artist would probably be able to replicate. It's an expression that is so specific, so particular and reserved only for someone who are scared to lose. It's something I only felt once. An expression of indescribable relief and grief.
I closed my eyes with an uncanny and weird knowledge that the words I said to Lao will not be the last. It felt appropriate at the time, but now, it's like a chapter of a story no one significant will ever be able to hear. It will forever remain in the archives of my brain. How can anyone else ever hear of it if the last person who did is already gone?
The papers in my hand went straight to my pocket, afraid that they might be held for evidence or worse, be taken away. They're evidence alright, evidence that I lived, and I'll get to read them as much as I want. Maybe Eiji's offer isn't half bad either. Maybe--no. I will consider it. No more maybes. This is my undead revival. I let the darkness take me away, aware of a weird feeling that it would be Eiji's face hovering over me that I'll be seeing later. That put a combination of a grimace and a smile on my face just thinking about it. Hands were all over me while I made sure to keep the letters secure. The last thing I heard was a jumble of words from everyone and a 'shush' from a librarian who is only about to find out what happened to her library. The library is huge, but the noise of these big men should have already alerted her something is going on in this direction. Oh well, she can be pretty absorbed something. I'll make it up to her later instead.
I’ll see you later, Yut Lung, and I’ll be seeing you too, past demons.