“I can’t diagnose any specific reason for your malaise. Except, perhaps…” The doctor looked at his clipboard with pursed lips. “I’m afraid there’s just not much more I can do to improve the situation. At your age, with your lifestyle, it’s a miracle you’re both mentally sharp and ambulatory.” He folded the clipboard beneath his arm. “Dr. Hathburn was your previous physician, right? Has he finally retired?”

“Died of natural causes,” responded the old man sitting on the couch, enjoying a coffee even at the late hour. “I’m wondering how good his health advice was if he died ten years my junior.”

The doctor laughed at the old man’s candor. “Dr. Hathburn was… seventy-seven, wasn’t he? Well, given your diet, I can’t explain it either. Fate works in mysterious ways.” The doctor began to put some of his testing implements away. “Are you going to be alright on your own, Willem? Do you have any relatives taking care of you?”

“Dead as well,” Willem answered like he was used to saying it. “Children, nephews, nieces, even the far-removed ones that crawl out of the woodworks at the smell of generational wealth.” He drank his coffee. “I almost miss the requests to see my will.”

As the doctor continued putting his tools away, he said politely, “I could arrange a live-in nurse for you.”

“Waste of money.” Willem shook his head. “I can still walk, still do everything myself.”

The doctor furrowed his brow. “You could probably buy my entire hospital, sir. One nurse to improve your quality of life won’t even be a blip on your fortune.”

“And subject some poor woman to this?” Willem gestured toward his enfeebled body.

“There are male nurses,” the doctor said. “And taking care of people like yourself is precisely what they get paid for.”

“I intend on dying with dignity, face down in the bathroom floor after an unfortunate slip,” Willem disagreed.

The doctor chuckled, closing his case of instruments. “Since you ignore most of my advice anyway, I’ll just say to work at being happy, Willem.”

“You should take that advice yourself, because I am happy.” Willem sipped his coffee.

The doctor didn’t rush to disagree, staring with a question on his lips. “How can you be happy?”

“We’re in a bear market. Stocks are on sale. Short-sighted people are selling to ridiculous extremes. The market was overvalued, but not this overvalued.” Willem shook his head, and the doctor looked minutely troubled, reflecting on something he’d done. “Well… I suppose I’m happy in bull markets, too. I’ve never thought about it much. I was always busy doing things.”

A case of literary theft: this tale is not rightfully on Amazon; if you see it, report the violation.

“That’s all it takes to be happy? The market?” The doctor listened intently.

“What, you want some secret? Do you think there’s pills for the rich called ‘happy pills’ that ensure we’re always happier and healthier than the plebians? Do you think I take daily injections of blood plasma from newborns?” Willem looked at the doctor, who shook his head at the joke. “Of course that’s it. There’s nothing quite as enjoyable to me as the market.”

The doctor looked like he simply couldn’t understand. “You can’t take the money with you,” he eventually pointed out.

“I’m aware.” Willem finished his coffee. “That’s why it’s all going to people like you when I finally kick the bucket. People that actually contribute something to the wellness of the world, instead of routing money from one pocket to another.”

“Investors play a valuable role. Still… charity, huh?” The doctor looked reflective, shifting on his feet. “You’re not afraid of dying?”

“I’ve never died. How could I know?” Willem mused, studying the bottom of his empty cup.

“You don’t think about it?” The doctor asked. “Whether or not there’s an afterlife, anything like that?”

“If I followed my father’s teachings, I’d have called a priest for a confession ages ago were that the case.” Willem shook his head. “All I think about is what’s going to happen tomorrow, next week, next month, next year, next decade. All of that other tripe… distractions. I’ll leave the existential hullabaloo to angsty youths.”

“Perhaps that’s why you’ve lived so long.” The doctor smiled reflectively, then evidently decided it was time to leave. “If you have any more problems, call my number day or night. If you think it’s an emergency, don’t hesitate to use your personal emergency response system. I’ll see you again… next month, I think?”

“That, or my casket.” Willem raised his empty coffee cup. “Go on home, kid.”

The doctor pointed. “If there is an afterlife, Willem, I hope you get into a good one.”

Leaving that, the doctor walked away. Willem chuckled at his well-wishes, and once the doctor had left his house, picked up a tablet. It had been zoomed in all the way so he could read the text, and he gradually swiped through a long and comprehensive document.

As time went on, Willem found it hard to keep his eyes open. He set the tablet down, rubbing at his eyes. He looked to his coffee cup, then at the distant brewer in the kitchen of his one-story home. He briefly tried to stand, before surrendering to the couch. He leaned his head back into the pillows, letting the feeling overtake him.

He stared at the pictures on the wall of his cramped living room, each one capturing faces he’d never speak to again, of lives that had slipped past him. Some were black-and-white, others vibrant with color—but all of them were smiling faces frozen in the past. All of them, except Willem, were gone. He leaned his head back, letting the weight of his thoughts settle as the room dimmed around him.

As night bled into day, those photographs came to depict none of the living.