Fate can be a cruel thing… see our friend Christopher Marcus for an example.

He lays motionlessly in his hospital bed, his mind still fresh with the humiliation of needing a nurse to help him clean himself.

The gaunt features of his grey face grow increasingly unsightly as long black shadows grow out from under his cheek bones. A light was being cast upon him from above, a cruel and sadistic light. Hanging from the ceiling above his hospital bed is a television that solely illuminates the hospital room. It’s playing a music video with a young and lively boy dancing around a middle school corridor, flirting with wide eyed girls as he pranced along like a flamboyant little retard.

Christopher hates this boy. He hates him even though this boy has never done anything to him. He hates him despite knowing the cruel fate that awaits the boy. He hates him knowing that everything that boy was could eventually be and would eventually be taken away by the indifference of fate. He hates him because whenever the boy would peer into the camera, smiling his idiot smile without a care in the world, Christopher would see a sight all too painfully familiar… His own face.

As Christopher lies lifeless and dying, he can’t bring himself to look away. Even though that boy is like a demon from hell that torments him with futures beyond his grasp, Christopher refuses to look away. Because this boy is the fate the world had promised him, a promise that he would never forget.

He was once a rising star in the entertainment industry. A boy blessed with the voice of an angel that wielded the devil’s charm to claim the hearts of millions and line the pockets of his overseers.

His posters were once a common sight on the bedroom walls of girls his age and younger, and an equally common sight in the urinals of middle school boy’s bathrooms.

His music videos were always in the top tens and twenties, and his songs could be frequently heard thundering through the bustling market streets and crowded shopping malls of every major and minor city in the country.

Of course music wasn’t his only talent. He was also a black belt in karate and a green belt in junior Brazilian Jiu Jitsu.

These skills not only landed him a guaranteed future in show business, but also the lofty title of America’s son. That’s right! Christopher Marcus was truly a jack of all trades, a perfect product bred and crafted by the mind of his ambitious mother. Born with every vane and superficial advantage a person could dream of, and for a moment, it truly seemed like the world was his to conquer.

That’s when fate did its magic. It came in the form of a small painless lump on the back of his neck. It quickly spread its vile tendrils throughout the thirteen year old’s body, and by the time he turned fourteen he was a shell of his former self.

The music video has ended now, and Christopher’s joints cry, pop and scream in rebellion as he turns to lay on his left side, his eyes peering over the hump of his pillow to the window just beyond. It is night time and his eyes find nothing to observe beyond the glass.

His body is already exhausted. He could once run ten kilometres without stopping, now just turning in bed took all he had.

“Give me a break…” he laughs bitterly. It’s nine o-clock and he wonders if his only friend is still coming to visit.

He closes his eyes and thinks about his mother’s words. She would often say that god rewards all people justly, that a person’s place in life was a direct reflection of their moral character. She often said that god’s plan was perfect and that wherever Christopher ended up in life was where he was always destined to be.

Ever since his hospitalisation Christopher wondered if his mother’s words were god’s way of mocking him. Just what the hell could he have possibly done to deserve this? Sure like any child growing up he had his moments of bad behaviour and disobedience, but he was a perfect son. He always cleaned up after himself and took proper care of his hygiene, he had an image to uphold after all. He never talked back to her or the executives and did everything they asked. He always attended rehearsals on time and endured through every meet and greet he was forced to host. He always smiled for the camera even when he was exhausted from all of the jumping and dancing on stage. He behaved perfectly during every interview. He followed his mother’s instructions and pretended to not notice when the executives would secretly slip their hands under his mother’s shirt during meetings. Even when it would make his blood boil with anger. Christopher Marcus had never made trouble for anyone and yet here he was…

The light from the opening door behind Christopher snaps his mind away from its wandering.

He feels the bed just tilt slightly as something heavy plops down beside him.

With a self deprecating chuckle Christopher slowly turns around onto his opposite side where he now faces his friend.

His friend Okimoto sits hunched on the side of his bed, his spiky mess of blonde hair shimmering under the dim light of the television. He Turns slightly to look back at Christopher, his face shaded and unclear, his mouth moving as if he were struggling to find his words.

“Okimoto, how did the championship go?” Christopher asks, deciding to speak first.

“I won…” Okimoto replies, but his tone is dead pan, void of the victoriousness winning a junior mixed martial arts championship should infuse into a fourteen year old boy.

Noticing his strange tone Christopher tries to prop his upper body up with his elbow but the strength to do even that escapes him.

Seeing Christopher struggle, Okimodo quickly lends his friend a helping hand, pulling Christopher up into a sitting position with his back leaning against the bed frame.

“Thanks…” Christopher says after catching his breath. “I couldn’t find the live stream for the championship anywhere. It sucks that I couldn’t have been there to see you kick their asses.”

“You should’ve been there kicking their asses alongside me.” Okimoto replies turning to look away again.

Christopher leans back and laughs before responding with amusement. “If I were competing too then we’d have to fight each other.”

Okimoto chuckles to himself before looking back at him. “You know what I mean.”

Christopher sighs. “In a perfect world that’s how it would be.”

“Yeah…” Okimoto muttered. He pulls his backpacke onto the bed before unzipping it and slipping out his switch. He then disconnects the two controllers and gives one to Christopher before getting up to connect the main console to the television with a HDMI cable.

As his friend does this Christopher can’t help but reminisce. He and Okimoto had first met during the previous year’s junior mixed martial arts tournament.

Christopher could remember it as if it was yesterday. The crushing impact of Okimoto’s punches, the air racing through his curls as he spun his body to kick, the cheering crowds of fans and the dizzying flashes of the cameras. Most of all Christopher remembered the intensity of the fight. He was fighting Okimodo for the championship and so it was naturally a tooth and nail affair. Christopher had ultimately lost. He developed a nosebleed and passed out mid fight. Cancer is a bitch.

Okimoto’s strange demeanour quickly disappeared and the two boys got carried away with their video games resulting in them playing until well past eleven o clock. They laughed as they always laughed and negged as they always negged. They were two friends like any other, or at least that’s how it would’ve been in a perfect world.

Eventually twelve o clock drew near and Okimoto would have to leave.

Christopher pauses the game and hands his controller back to Okimoto.

Okimoto who was now half lying on the bed with his head in Christopher’s lap looks up at his friend with a dazed expression, as if he was a vexed child inconvenienced by having to wake from his peaceful morning sleep.

“It’s time for you to go home now right?” Christopher asks rather than states.

Okimoto sighs. “It is, but I’d rather just sleep here. Going all the way back home is a pain in the ass.”

“Come on dude.” Christopher replies. “They yelled at you last time don’t you remember? Do you really want to get banned from the hospital?”

“If I get banned then I’ll just sneak in through the windows.” Okimoto replies casually as if his behaviour has no consequences at all.

Christopher shakes his head. “You really think you can do anything you want don’t you…”

“I can!” Okimoto scoffs and looks up at Christopher with a mischievous smirk. “You wanna hear what I did at Middle Crest High the other day?”

“Okimoto…” Christopher says frowning. “The fact that you were even able to get into that school is a miracle, don’t tell me you’re going to screw it all up and get expelled in your freshman year.”

“Yeah so anyway…” Okimoto says dismissively while rolling his eyes. He then places his hand on his chest flamboyantly as if addressing himself like a king, a wide and arrogant smile on his face. “I knocked out the captain of the wrestling team and tied him up to the base of the redwood tree in the main courtyard naked.”

“What the fuck.” Christopher says astonished by what he’s just heard. “I was wrong about you Okimoto…”

“Wrong about what?” Okimoto asks with genuine curiosity.

Christopher smiles and says. “This entire time I thought you were so stupid that you’d get yourself expelled. Now I realise that you’re actually just a sociopath who’s trying to get expelled on purpose, the question is why? What plan do you have brewing in your corrupted mind?”

Okimoto was a bad kid. He would always tell Christopher about his exploits in the eighth grade, about all of the poor students and teachers who fell victim to his treachery. He had once locked all of the school bathrooms from the outside using a knife he snuck in, causing several students and even a teacher to have nasty accidents. There was another time when he stole the prettiest girl in his school away from her boyfriend only to dump her when an even prettier girl joined his class the next day. He had even brought several tasers that he apparently stole from the school security guards in to the hospital to show off to Christopher at one point. How he got those past the hospital security system is anyone’s guess. Christopher had absolutely no idea how he managed to get into Middle Crest, one of the most prestigious high schools in Los Angeles. It was as if the rules of life simply didn’t apply to Okimoto, it was like he was an existence above karma itself.

“Christopher you should know me by now.” Okimoto says turning to lay on his side while propping his head up on his right shoulder. “I do whatever the hell I feel like doing in the moment. I’m not some kind of evil mastermind.”

“Okay so you’re really just stupid then!” Christopher says punching his arm.

“Ouch!” Okimoto yells out in pain and surprise. “You’ve still got some serious grip strength!”

“Really?” Christopher looks at his hand in confusion. “I guess I do feel a bit better today for some reason. It’s probably because they stopped giving me chemo.”

Okimoto remains silent as his silver eyes seem to wander around the room. After a few seconds of silence he finally asks. “Have you still not heard back from your mother?”

Christopher’s amber eyes become glossed over by the dim light of the television, his mind a mess as he tries to answer this sudden question that he’d never expect Okimoto to ask. He answers with a snarky tone. “Why do you want to know? Keep your nose where it belongs, on your face and not in my business.”

“Christopher?” Okimoto seemed taken aback before laughing to himself. “I’ve been visiting you for the past year almost everyday. I haven’t seen your mother even once since last year’s tournament.”

“That’s because she’s a busy woman.” Christopher responds with a sigh, hoping that Okimoto doesn’t try to pry any further. The topic of his mother was not something he was used to discussing with his friend. It would be an understatement to say that he felt put on the spot.

“What could possibly be so time consuming that it keeps you away from your own dying child…” Okimoto muttered.

Christopher doesn’t reply. Instead, he turns his head to gaze out of the window to his left. Just like before only blackness meets his gaze.

Okimoto stands up and lingers with his back to the bed for a few seconds before throwing his fist into the wall. The impact produces a loud thud that shakes the entire right side of the room.

“What the hell are you doing?” Christopher asks shocked. “The nurses are going to come and kick you out if you make a shit ton of noise like that.”

Okimoto ignores him and continues to punch the wall several times untill blood was dripping from his fingers.

Christopher is speechless as he watches Okimoto show him his now bloody knuckles. For a few seconds the two boys stare at each other waiting for the other to speak first.

“Christopher…” Okimoto says and then pauses, his eyes darting up as he searches for what to say next. He then says. “You could die any day now and I won’t let you die alone. With this injury they will have no choice but to keep me here over night.”

“You idiot!” Christopher immediately snaps at him. “I appreciate the gesture but don’t you think there’s a more intelligent way to do these things? Was there really a need to wake up half the hospital?”

Okimoto immediately bursts out laughing when he hears his friend reprimand him. He wipes a tear from his eyes and says. “Quit all the yapping or else you’re going to wake up the other half.”

Okimoto was a strange boy to say the least. Christopher still remembered the very moment Okimoto stepped into the ring to confront him. Spiky dyed hair with a single braid at the back, piercings everywhere and silver eyes that could pierce into a person’s soul. Christopher often wondered if his friend wore contacts but never asked. It wasn’t because he didn’t have the courage too, it just never crossed his mind when Okimoto was actually present.

This story originates from Royal Road. Ensure the author gets the support they deserve by reading it there.

Okimoto’s eccentricities were also expressed in his clothing. He only ever wore two types of outfits, either all black, or a bunch of crap so colourful it could send everyone in a one hundred mile radius into an epileptic fit. Christopher didn’t know if his aesthetic had a name or not. Emo or goth maybe? Perhaps punk? Some strange male version of gothic Lolita? It didn’t matter. What mattered was that Okimoto was probably the only real friend Christopher ever had.

After Christopher awoke from unconsciousness the day after the previous years junior mixed martial arts tournament, it wasn’t his mother but Okimoto who sat waiting for him to recover. It was a surreal experience. Christopher was certain that not many could boast about meeting their best friend in such a way.

The door to Christopher’s hospital room is thrown open as two nurses come rushing inside.

When they see that Christopher is unharmed they immediately turn to look at Okimoto without the slightest trace of amusement. He had a bad reputation amongst the hospital staff and both of the nurses easily recognised him due to his unique appearance.

“Come with us!” One of the nurses, a tall Mediterranean woman shouts at Okimoto with a hint of impatience. She had extremely dark hair and a prominent Roman hook shaped nose, her face was crisscrossed by a network of stress lines that gave her an air of authority and sternness.

Her colleague, a more dainty and conventionally attractive redhead smiles at Christopher warmly as she radiates a youthful. If Christopher wasn’t mistaken her name was Joyce or something like that. She would often help him wash himself and was always extremely friendly and helpful.

Okimoto immediately obays and leaves alongside the two women, turning back briefly to give Christopher a final wink before the door is slammed shut behind him.

The light of the television is now the only thing illuminating the room again. Christopher slowly slides back down into a sleeping position. He has to do a full body x ray tomorrow.

Christopher found it to be pointless as his condition was already diagnosed as terminal. What good will that do for him now?

Christopher closes his eyes and like all nights he wonders if this one would be his last. This body of his was like a prison he couldn’t escape from. Heavy and stiff, numb from the pain killers.

His mind begins to wander, his thoughts turning more vivid until they blend with reality.

He finds himself being led by the hand through a field of dry and blonde high grass. He turns his head to the left and then to the right and sees the field stretch on into infinity under a sunless amber sky, black savannah trees occasionally peeking out from the tall grass.

He fixes his eyes on the figure leading him by the hand and sees the back of his mother. She’s wearing one of those brightly coloured Jamaican dresses she loves to wear. Her long black hair flows overhead like a translucent veil, jewellery clings to every inch of her.

He can’t see her face and can’t see over the tall grass towards where they were going but he can hear something coming up ahead. As they get closer it gradually grows louder until Christopher can make out it’s nature. It’s laughing. One hundred voices? Perhaps a thousand?

Christopher shivers and wonders when it got so cold.

Clouds of fog rise before his eyes as he breathes in the chilly air.

He’s barefoot and blades of grass pierce his feet like blades of ice.

The laughing gets louder and louder yet his mother remains silent. She stops walking forward when the laughter is almost unbearable and steps aside allowing Christopher to see where they were going.

There is a clearing just ahead were nothing but red soil makes up the ground. This continues onward for a few metres until the ground gradually rises up to an elevated point beyond which seemed to be the origin of the laughter.

“Don’t be afraid.” His mother says. “ Christopher’s fate awaits him just ahead.” her voice is as smooth as silk and as warm as the summer sun. It’s quiet yet it drowns out the laughter that assaults his ears.

Christopher steps forward, comforted by her words. He continues over the cold red soil and up towards the elevated point where he sees the source of the thundering voices.

Christopher can’t believe his eyes. He now stands on the edge of a cliff overlooking an ocean of cackling hyenas. Hairless and naked, possessing the teeth and eyes of men and women. They laugh with the voices of the young and old.

“Dance for them!” His mother’s voice speaks from behind him.

Christopher looks back and finally sees her face. She’s beautiful, the most beautiful he had ever seen her. Her cameral skin glistens under the sunless sky as her veil of hair enshrouds her like an aura. Her eyes look like two black beads preserved in spheres of amber as they stare through Christopher, compelling him to do as he was told. And so, under the sunless sky Christopher Marcus wields the devil’s charm once more. He wears a slave chain around his neck and rags that are stained with blood as he seduces the crowd. He sings his songs of love and desire above the famished gazes and salivating jaws of the cackling beasts far beneath.

Black roots grow out from the crimson soil, branching in the air as several creatures descend upon them to sit and observe.

Christopher knows who they are, they are his overseers.

Their necks are swollen and bulbous, their faces elongated into an avian shape. Their bloated stomachs hang lower than their feet, adorned with patterns of red, white and black feathers. There are five of them. They all sit silently observing him with cold indifference.

“Christopher’s time is coming to an end now.” His mother says softly. Her quiet voice louder than all of the laughing hyenas.

Christopher stops dancing and she gets closer to him.

She reaches out for him and he reaches out for her. As their hands meet she slaps his to the side and makes a thrust for his chest. Blood erupts from Christopher as his mother rips out his heart and eats it.

He falls to the ground and is unable to move. That’s when the overseers all leap from their perches on the black branching roots to descend upon him.

The fattest of them, the ceo of Disney takes his brain after ripping his skull open.

The tallest of them, his manager takes his lungs after widening the hole his mother left in his chest.

The other three are the most terrifying, they are three of the Disney channel executives. They take his tongue, his ears and his eyes.

After everything he was is stripped from him, Christopher’s mother picks up his lifeless husk.

She holds him up over the laughing ocean of hyenas and says. “This is why Christopher was born. He is but a thing to be bought and sold, It was always his fate to be consumed.”

After those words were spoken she throws her child to the hyenas beneath, where it drives the animals to rip each other apart, desperate for even a single scrap of flesh.

Christopher jolts awake and sits up with a cold sweat. It was all a nightmare…

His chest rises and contracts under his hospital gown as he tries to regain composure.

He’s facing the window of his hospital room and sees the sun illuminating the Los Angles skyline in the distance. He was still alive.

He then notices that something is very wrong. He’s sitting up? He stands up and immediately knows that he’s still dreaming. He already lost his ability to walk so standing like this shouldn’t have been possible.

He slaps himself and tenses his eyes to will himself to wake up but he can’t. He then hears the door open behind him followed by a frightened gasp.

“Christopher?” A familiar voice speaks apprehensively.

Christopher turns to meet the eyes of the red head from the previous night.

“You can stand?” She says, looking Christopher up and down in total disbelief. “You’re complexion is back to normal too…”

Christopher wastes no time and examines himself thoroughly. Not only had his complexion returned to its original caramel colour, but his ribs are also much less noticeable than before. It is as if he has magically gained several percentages of body mass overnight. He can also clearly remember being in constant fatigue and pain and needing painkillers all the time. Now he feels only faint weakness in his muscles with everything else feeling fine, in fact he feels great!

“This is so strange.” The woman says putting her finger on her bottom lip. “Wait here, I’ll be back soon.”

She then leaves closing the door behind her, leaving Christopher alone to process the fact that he wasn’t in fact dreaming.

All manner of possibilities and rational explanations raced through Christopher’s mind. Could it be that him being terminally ill was all just a dream? He dismisses that thought almost as quickly as it comes. He clearly remembers the red head nurse commenting on his complexion and mobility a few seconds ago. This meant that there was continuity between last night and this morning.

For the next hour Christopher paces back and forth in his room, his chaotic thoughts jumping to all manner of possibilities ranging from him being misdiagnosed to him being secretly poisoned. The red haired nurse enters back into the room at around eight o clock and informs Christopher that he will soon be escorted to his full body x ray before quickly leaving again.

Christopher thinks that the situation is extremely odd and he’s quite to strike down any thoughts that are leaning in the direction of him being miraculously cured. It was only natural for some days to be better than others when it comes to chronic illness. It was for the best that he didn’t give himself false hope.

As Christopher waits for the doctor to come and escort him out of the hospital room, his eyes begin to wander.

Okimoto’s switch and backpack are neatly placed on the table to the right of Christopher’s bed. Upon close observation several indentations can be seen where Okimoto punched the pale blue wall.

Christopher circles around to the table and notices that the small drawer underneath it is partially open. Before he gets the chance to see what’s inside he hears the door open behind him, followed by a dry cough.

Looking back immediately Christopher sees a tall doctor with a wide forehead and reseeding hairline. His lips were thin as he carried a stoic expression on his stubbled face. He wears standard doctor attire and a pair of yellow tinted glasses that are perhaps the only thing of actual style he dawns.

“Good morning Christopher Marcus.” He says with an almost zombie like sluggishness.

“Good morning Dr. Fredrick.” Christopher answers politely.

“I see that you’ve regained quite a bit of vitality.” The Doctor strokes his chin as he takes a few mental notes before he motions for Christopher to come with him. “Let’s go get that full body x ray done, it should shed light on how your condition has changed.”

Christopher follows the doctor’s lead and exits into the corridor where he sees the red haired nurse from before waiting with a wheelchair.

Christopher quickly gets on and in mere minutes he’s taken through the usual maze of pastel coloured hospital corridors leading to the ward where the x ray was to take place. When he arrives the process initially seems to go smoothly, except for when the person in the operating room seems to become startled and immediately calls for Dr. Fredrick. The next thing Christopher knows he’s doing a second x ray which is immediately followed by a third.

After that he’s raced to a different part of the hospital for blood tests which is followed by a full body CT scan which itself he must repeat three times. Test after test after test goes by and the day is quickly nearing its end. He is eventually sent back into his room to wait until further notice. It’s now that he finally understands what’s going on. He had not miraculously improved but was instead experiencing a phenomenon called terminal lucidity. Having searched up what the last days of people’s lives were like online countless times, Christopher knew of this phenomenon well. Days or even moments before a person dies they will suddenly experience a sudden surge in energy and awareness. It isn’t difficult to mistake this phenomenon for genuine improvements in the terminally ill person’s condition.

Fortunately Christopher was already used to reality letting him down, so this time he didn’t fall for his own wishful thinking and had maintained a safe level of pessimism throughout the day. He wasn’t the same naive and ignorant pop idol he was when he first entered the Hospital anymore. Back then he had all manner of fantasies about how he’d miraculously recover and return to performing for the masses in a matter of weeks. When weeks turn into months with only worsening symptoms, optimism doesn’t last too long. His condition had likely rapidly deteriorated as hinted at by the strange behaviour of the doctors around him.

The door to his room swings open once again and Okimoto comes in huffing and puffing, wearing a much more obnoxiously colourful set of clothes than he wore the previous night.

“So much for staying by my side.” Christopher looks Okimoto up and down before rolling his eyes and continuing to say. “I’m assuming you went back to school again?”

“Yeah…” Okimoto pants heavily before leaning back and cracking his back and neck. Upon looking at Christopher he immediately notices his improved condition and comments. “You look much better than you did last night.”

“Don’t judge a book by its cover.” Christopher says immediately attempting to dampen up the blossoming conversation. “The doctors put me through a living hell today. I’ve done at least over a dozen different tests and procedures and now they’ve thrown me back in here where I have to wait until further notice. Further notice until what huh? They’re going to come back here and tell me that I’ve advanced to a stage seven or some shit like that.”

Okimoto places his hand on Christopher’s shoulder and speaks in a calm manner. “Miracles can happen in life, some times…”

“Don’t start with that.” Christopher sighs as he points at the console neatly resting on the table. “I don’t need false hope right now. What I need is to escape from reality. You can help me with that right?”

Okimoto smiles and nods peacefully before picking up the Switch and placing it back on the bed.

As Okimoto starts the process of connecting the switch to the TV, Christopher’s eyes are once again drawn to the half open drawer to his left. In a state of pure mindless procrastination Christopher opens the drawer fully and notices a strange and small book. It’s cover appears to be made from leather that was a red velvet colour. Out of curiosity Christopher retrieves it from the drawer and examines it more closely. The cover has two sets of stainless steel letters that are icy cold to the touch somehow perfectly ingrained in it. His eyes are first drawn to the big set of steel letters that spell “FATE DIARY”. His eyes are then drawn just below that to the second and smaller set of letters that spell “ALL THAT IS WRITTEN IN THIS DIARY SHALL BE FATED TO COME TO PASS”.

“Okimoto?” Christopher asks, his eyes locking on his best friend immediately. “You left your diary here last night.”

“What?” Okimoto looks back at Christopher while raising an eyebrow. “I don’t have a diary…”

Christopher holds up the strange book to give Okimoto a better look and asks. “Are you sure this doesn’t belong to you?”

Okimoto shakes his head and goes back to setting up the Switch.

Christopher can’t help but feel confused. A diary like this seems to suit Okimoto’s bombastic mesh of aesthetics quite well but apparently it isn’t his. If the owner isn’t him then who the hell does this bizarre book belong to? Could it have been left behind by one of the doctors or nurses? Christopher gives the book another look and decides to read what’s on the first page to see if it will give him clues as to who the owner was. Surely the first page wouldn’t have any major secrets right?

As soon as Christopher opens the book he is greeted with a strange sight. The first page was all black with white writing it was quite odd as white ink was not something Christopher was familiar with. Seeing such a bizarre aesthetic choice causes Christopher to reconsider the possibility that this diary really did belong to Okimoto and wondered if this was all just some weird prank of his.

Christopher decides to read the contents of the first page out loud before making any further assumptions. “Tuesday the 29th of September, 20:03: Christopher Marcus will receive news from Dr Fredrick confirming that he’s free of cancer? What the actual fuck, what kind of a sick joke…”

“What’s wrong?” Okimoto asks returning to sit on the edge of the bed after completing his task.

Christopher holds the book up to his face to show him the writing on the first page. “So the punchline is… what exactly?”

“What is this?” Okimoto asks.

“Don’t play stupid.” Christopher says frowning deeply as his tone grows more accusatory. “I know you have a dark sense of humour, but mocking your dying friend is a bit excessive.”

Okimoto carefully reads the first page before responding. “What is this all about?”

“I don’t know, you tell me?” Christopher’s tone grows increasingly incredulous as his patience with Okimoto’s antics grows increasingly thin.

“I don’t get it.” Okimoto says.

Christopher squints at him, his brows tensing up into a tight knot. “Okimoto, what’s the point in playing dumb? Do you want me to laugh? Hahaha you’re so damn funny.”

“Oh!” Okimoto’s eyes widen in surprise suddenly. “You think I’m making fun of you? I’m genuinely just as confused about this book as you are.”

“If you didn’t write it then who did?” Christopher sighs while rubbing his eyelids in frustration.

“You said the doctors will be back later right?” Okimoto asks as he offers Christopher one of the Switch controllers. “Let’s wait until they come back and then give them the diary, maybe they’ll know who it belongs to.”

“Fine…” Christopher says as he takes the controller from Okimoto.

When the television screen lights up, Christopher eyes the time in the corner of the Switch’s Home page. He sees that the time is six o clock in the evening and can’t help but feel an uncomfortable pit form in his stomach.

The sun sets beyond the window, bathing the hospital room under an orange hue. Christopher takes another look at the Diary and notes that he’s supposedly going to find out that he’s cancer free in two hours. Okimoto was already booting up smash bros and half lays down across Christopher’s lap with his legs dangling over the bedside like he always does.

Several matches go by and the room is solely illuminated by the television once more, the sun having long abandoned the skyline in the pitch black distance. There is a knock on the door followed by the light from the corridor as it’s opened.

Christopher and Okimoto’s eyes both lock on to Dr Fredrick who now stands in the open doorway, his features silhouetted by the light coming from behind him.

Christopher looks at the upper right corner of the TV screen just in time to see the time go from two minutes past eight to three minutes past eight. Time seems to stop and his heart skips a beat as he remembers the first page of the strange diary. Surely the doctor wouldn’t actually say…

“I have good news for you.” Dr. Fredrick says in a somewhat shaken voice uncharacteristic of him. “Christopher Marcus, you’re completely cancer free…”

Whatever Dr. Fredrick says after that falls on deaf ears. Christopher is now certain that he has either gone completely insane or is dreaming. He slaps himself and he doesn’t wake up.

Okimoto who had stood up straight at some point pulls him by the hospital gown as his face dawns an expression of pure tearful relief. He was grinning from ear to ear, His words of celebration going unheard under the wringing in Christopher’s ears.

He slaps himself a second time, and he still doesn’t wake up…