"MY WISH"

*****

"Have you made your decision, Missus Grondelle?" A faint masculine voice, from beyond the door.

"Yes…" A sorrowful voice, one belonging to her mother. "If it means she could continue living… then please…"

The white ceiling. Unchanging, plain, lifeless.

"Are you certain?" A concerned voice, the same masculine voice belonging to her trusted doctor. "Proceeding with this, while it would guarantee her life, would mean that not a single being would be ever allowed to make direct contact with her again."

A pause. One so tense that it's palpable even through the door which separated her from the rest of the world.

It has been her best friend, her only friend.

"That… i-it can't be that bad, right?" How awful, to hear such subtly hidden pain from the person you love the most, love you the most.

"I'll clarify the reason for this once more, Missus Grondelle." Sounds of rustling papers flipping over.

But she hates it. Hates how lonely it makes her feel. Hates how it brings her nothing but a plain view.

"Due to an unknown phenomenon that occurred two months ago, a new and unknown form of energy started leaking from the bodies of every living being." More rustling papers.

"Energy that proved to be lethal to patients of illnesses and diseases that involved the nervous, cardiovascular, or the immune system." Even more rustling papers. Annoying papers. "And exposure to this energy causes the patient's disorder to flare up to fatal degrees. Even the energy they are leaking from their own body would worsen their condition."

But still, there is nothing that she can do, not in her state.

"I… I saw it in the news…" Ah, how sorrowful that voice is, yet the hope which accompanied it annoyed her more, hurt her more. "People were cured of their sicknesses… because of this, this energy…"

Even so, no matter how futile it is, no matter how pointless it is, she still hates it.

"Indeed…" An exasperated, yet concerned voice. A kind voice. "But the opposite also happens… the effects differ from one another…"

"But it's there, right…?" Ah, how hopeful, to the point it's heavy, to the point it's excruciatingly contagious. "Maybe… it could be used, right? If you, and the scientists, could imitate it… maybe my daughter could be saved too. That's why, we'll go through it."

To the point that she can't help but feel hopeful as well.

The narrative has been taken without permission. Report any sightings.

After all, all it does is make her feel alone.

"That is true." A neutral yet reassuring voice, no longer concerned but determined. "Multiple research groups are already doing everything to understand this new energy. The government has also decided to provide funding."

Alone with her thoughts.

"That's right, right…" Hope. Hope that she started to firmly hold onto unknowingly. "So until then… she'll have to hate me for this decision a bit more…"

But she won't, 'I won't.'

Alone with decade-old memories that bring her nothing but hope.

Hope that has already turned into despair.

Despair that eats her from within.

Despair brought by false hope and loneliness.

That's why, that's why.

That's why she hates the ceiling.

Hates how clean it is. Hates how there's not a speck of dirt on it.

Hates how there's nothing on it that could distract her.

That could pull her out of her mind, away from her thoughts.

Truly, how inconsiderate of it.

So why not close her eyes?

That's worse, it's worse.

The darkness, after all, is also her hated best friend.

If her eyes are closed, then her mind is free.

Free to show her visions of the past.

Free to remind her of those days.

Those days she enjoyed, days that she was happy, could feel happy.

And to remind her that those days…

That those days are no longer available to her.

That's why she doesn't close her eyes.

That's why, even when she's tired, drowsy, she would wait for her eyes to fall on their own.

Instantly bringing her to sleep, sleep that she also hates.

No, that's wrong, inaccurate.

It's the dreams that she hates.

No, that's wrong too, incorrect.

What is it, hmm…

Ah, that's right. What she hates is waking up.

The realization that her beautiful dreams,

that the lovely dreams she loves,

that her perfect world of happiness,

are nothing but a facade.

Illusions, delusions, born from her despair.

Born from her longing.

From her desires.

Her yearning.

Wishes.

She hates it.

She loathes that.

When she wakes up.

She wakes up at the peak of her happiness.

And she would open her eyes to the same hateful ceiling.

That's why she can't help but make a wish.

That she would just stay asleep.

Stay within her world of beauty and happiness.

But alas, reality is simply cruel.

So once more, she stares at her best friend and greets him good morning.

Blinking occasionally, a blink to the past, and back to the present.

She waits, patiently.

When her own body finishes consuming all of its energy and brings her back to her paradise.

What else is there to do?

There's a television, you say?

Ah, right.

But she hates it as well.

And the less said about it, the better.

For her, at least.

But you can already tell, right? The reason for her hatred.

But that…

Ah, there it is, it's coming.

That sweet and blissful pull.

That pleasant embrace of sleep, of withdrawing back to her perfect inner world.

With a faint smile, she welcomes this delightful feeling and allows her eyes to close.

----------------------------------------

The crackling of the fire, the occasional popping of the firewood as the steam from within is released. Birdsong accompanied by their flapping wings, welcoming the morning sun. Rays slipped between the gaps of the silky curtains softly fluttering with the cold wind that invited itself into the room.

All of this combined created a serene morning, one that everyone could enjoy, providing a pleasant welcome to a new day as one wakes up.

And sitting on top of the bed—holding the blanket against herself to hide her bare chest—was a small girl staring at the room dumbfoundedly, as if unable to process what she was seeing. The fluffy ears atop her head, akin to a cat's, flinched toward the direction of every sound that was heard. The long and slender tail behind her slowly swished from left to right as if to portray her confusion.

"I… I don't think this is a dream…" The girl mumbled in confusion before she raised her free hand to swipe her long pink bangs to the side to get a better view of the place.

*****