To what degree can one genuinely alter the trajectory dictated by unseen forces that appear to preordain a person's life path?
Could his skill actually provide the young boy with an opportunity he would not have had otherwise?
That question lingered on the edge of his consciousness. Regardless of fate or destiny, his hands were the boy's best hope.
The little boy's parents walked behind the gurney, their movements unsteady, as if the weight of fear had sapped their power. Soot streaked their faces combining tear tracks that pierced through the muck.
The mother gripped her husband's arm as if he was the only thing that holding her up. She was sobbing hard, but her gaze never strayed from her son.
"Tommy! Stay with us son. Please..." She kept repeating it, as if she said it enough times, the universe would listen to her.
Elias assessed over the wound. The jagged piece glass punctured the boy's abdomen right below his navel, it's edges wet with blood. The skin around it had tightened, and the muscles stiffened.
He carefully pressed on the wound, and the boy let out a harsh choked moan. His tummy was as rigid as a stone. Internal bleeding, not good. Elias exhaled. We don't have much time.
"Tommy, can you hear me?" Elias leaned in, his voice steady but tinged with urgency.
Tommy's eyes blinked, struggling against the weight of exhaustion. His watery eyes briefly focused on Elias before wandering aimlessly. His lips opened, letting out a shaky breath before uttering a single word.
"Hurts..."
"I know it hurts, buddy," He muttered gently. "We'll take care of you. We're going to make it stop."
He looked at the parents who were transfixed at the edge of the bay. Elias swallowed the lump in his throat before speaking quietly but firmly.
"We're going to do anything we can," he promised. "But we need to get him into surgery now."
He didn't wait for an answer. No...there was no time.
Tommy was prepped and ready, his little body dwarfed by the wide expanse of the operating table. the surgical team, dressed in blue scrubs and masks, moved like a well-rehearsed orchestra. Elias stood at the heart of it all. His fingers curled around the scalpel. His eyes we're fixed on the boy's frail frame, so little, so still.
The room was quiet, except for the monitor's steady beeping and the team murmurs of confirmation. Focus. There's no space for error. He took a final breath and lowered his scalpel.
Elias made the initial incision, his blade cutting smoothly through skin and muscle as he navigated around the embedded glass. Tommy's abdomen was a battlefield beneath the surface, with ripped veins, punctured tissue, and blood pooling in every crevice.
BEEP... BEEP... BEEP...
The monitor let out a harsh, relentless beep.
"BP's crashing—70 over 40! Heart rate's rising, 130 and weak!!" the anesthesiologist exclaimed.
"Suction!" Elias snapped. The nurse does as instructed.
He gently and steadily eased the shard of glass loose, revealing the horror underneath. The boy's liver was shredded, and his small intestine had many punctures.
"Damn!!" Another surgeon said under his breath. "This kid's fighting an uphill battle."
Elias clenched his jaw. Then we'll make sure he wins.
"Clamp the bleeder. We start with the liver!" He instructed. His team moved in unison, hands darting in a frenzied sequence of clamping, suturing, and cauterizing.
But no matter how quickly they worked, Tommy's body continued to betray them. Blood still oozed where it shouldn't, and his skin became paler by the second.
"Dammit...!!" Elias mumbled while tightening his grasp on the needle driver.
To make matters worse, the monitor let out a shrill warning.
"He's not responding to the transfusions!!" The anesthesiologist exclaimed. "BP's crashing—60 over 30. We're losing him!!!"
Elias gritted his teeth. Not yet. Not this kid. "Come on, Tommy..." His voice hardly rose above a whisper, but his hands worked with fresh urgency.
For the first time in his entire career, Elias was unsure whether he could bring this one back from the edge.
"He's crashing!!!" The anesthesiologist said. "No pulse—starting compression!!"
Elias' chest clenched. No... No... Please... "Charge the defibrillator—100 joules!!!"
The paddles pressed against Tommy's chest. "Clear!" A jolt passed through him, causing it to shudder before dropping back onto the table.
The cardiac monitor replied with a harsh flat tone. "Still no rythm," The anesthesiologist muttered, his expression bleak.
Elias jaw was tensed. "Charge again—150 joules!" His throat hurt as he forced the words out. "Clear!!"
Another shock, another painful moment of stillness.
"Come on Tommy..." Elias's voice cracked, hardly audible now. "Don't you dare give up on me kid!!"
He won't give up. Not now, not ever. "Charge to 200! now!!"
The defibrillator whined, preparing for what felt like the final, desperate shot. "Clear!!"
Tommy's body jerked, then fell back lifeless. The monitors flatline droned on, a sound Elias had not yet ready to accept.
The anesthesiologist let out a faint, dejected breath. "No response..." his shoulders dropped as he looked at the clock. "Time of death, 1:32 AM."
Elias did not move. His hands still hovered over the boy's chest, as if urging his heart to restart. But...there was nothing. No miracles. No second chances. Just silence.
The room was eerily silent, the beeping of the heart monitor replaced with an uninterrupted, empty tone. The surgical team remained still, their eyes concealed by masks. A scrub nurse gradually lowered her head. Another started disassembling the surgical equipment, her gestures listless.
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Elias wouldn't let it sink in. He yelled, "Again!!!" His voice was rough. "Charge it again!!!"
"Elias..." Dr. Ramirez, his best friend, walked forward, his voice low and measured. He put a firm yet gentle hand on Elias' arm. "He's gone..."
"No!!!" Elias yanked away. "He's not gone!" His hands pressed against Tommy's chest, making frenzied compressions. He can't be...he can't.
Dr. Ramirez's fingers wrapped around his wrist, firm and unyielding. "Elias. Stop," he said softly, his voice cracked at the edges. "We did everything we could."
"No!" Elias' voice cracked as he shook his head. His breath came in jagged gasps, but he persisted. His hands pressing down repeatedly, driving life back to Tommy's still chest. One... two... three... four...
"Elias..." Dr. Ramirez's voice was soft and almost pleading. "Please...it's over, he's gone..."
But Elias could barely hear him. The universe had shrunk to the tiny, lifeless figure beneath his palms. His ears rang. His own heartbeat pounded in his skull, a harsh reminder that his was still pumping while Tommy's had become silent.
He had never lost a patient at the table. Never. He wasn't going to start now. Not with this boy. Not with Tommy. He'd promised...
Please... just one more compression. One more chance.
Dr. Ramirez's arm stays around Elias, a firm but silent plea to go away. "Let go, Elias," Ramirez said softly. "He's at peace now..."
Elias tensed, and felt a shudder pass through his body before slumping against his colleague, as if the fight had been pulled from his bones. His breath caught, and then the sobbing poured, raw and unrestrained.
"He's gone." The words barely made it past his raspy, empty voice. "He's gone..."
The OR, once alive with activity and purpose, felt strangely still. The overhead lights produced bright reflections on the metal equipment, yet their typical gleam appeared dimmed.
Around him, the surgical team moved slowly and defeatedly. A scrub nurse's shoulders fell as she removed her gloves. The monitor's flatline drone blended with the distant hum of unused equipment.
Tommy lay on the table, covered in white, the sheet smooth and final. The silence was terrible.
"We need to talk to the parents." Dr. Ramirez voice was soft but heavy with unspoken pain.
Elias gulped hard. The words felt like a punch to his gut. He had stood before them hours earlier, promising he would do anything for their son. He had seen the desperate hope in their eyes, and felt the weight of their confidence fall on him. But now...
"I'll go with you..." Dr. Ramirez offered. His expression firm and understanding.
Elias shook his head. "No." The word came out harshly, just above a whisper. "This...this is my responsibility."
In a few seconds, he'd walk into that waiting room and see Tommy's parents face crumble. He would be the one who broke them. But there was no avoiding it. He squared his shoulders and pushed his feet forwards.
Elias stepped out of the Operating Room, exhaustion weighing heavily on his limbs. The ordinary that had powered him through the operation had run out.
He found Tommy's parents sat stiffly in the waiting area, their hands clasped in a silent prayer, a sight that he rarely encountered these days. When they saw him, they shot to their feet and searched his face, imploring and bracing.
Elias tried to speak, but his throat tightened.
He swallowed, forcing himself to meet their gaze.
Nothing. Words did not come.
His fingers clenched into a fist by his side. He only managed a tiny shake of his head. That was enough confirmation.
The mother's loud gasp pierced the silence like a blade, harsh and sharp. She stumbled back, her shaking hands covering her lips.
"No..." The word barely left her lips, a frail whisper, before it shattered into an agonizing cry. "No... Tell me this is not true doctor. Tell me he's okay... Please!!"
Elias forced himself to look her in the eyes. He gulped heavily. "I'm so sorry..." His voice was faint and scratchy. "We did everything we could, but..."
The words remained on his tongue. He did not need to finish it. The reality was already present, thick and stifling, pressing against the silence.
"NOOOO... TOMMY..." The mother's raw guttural wail tore through the room.
The father fell into the chair behind him, his body slumped forward and his shoulders quivering in quiet, gut-wrenching sobs.
Time blurred as a nurse gently led the mourning parents away. Their sobs drowned out by the antiseptic hum of the ward. Elias could still hear Tommy's mother's raw and continuous cry.
He stayed motionless, his limbs leaden, watching them vanish down the corridor. A hand landed on his shoulder, steady and grounded.
"Elias." He turned to see Dr. Ramirez looking at him, concern engraved into the deep wrinkles on his face. "You should go home, you've been through hell tonight."
Elias swallowed, despite the constriction in his throat. "There are still patients to see." He grumbled. His voice seemed distant and hollow. "I need to go back to the ER."
Ramirez strengthened his hold, pinning him. "The ER is covered, we have enough hands." He sighed and studied Elias. "My friend, you are running on fumes. Grief does not simply go just because you bury yourself in work."
Elias forced out a breath that seemed more like a shiver. He knew Ramirez was right, his body was hurt, his mind was sluggish, and behind the exhaustion, a hollow pit of guild gnawed at him.
Ramirez demeanor softened but his tone remained stern. "Go home, Elias. That is an order, not a suggestion."
Elias met his eyes, hoping for an argument or an excuse, but only found steadfast confidence. He gave a slow, defeated sigh. "Yeah...okay."
He turned and walk away, his steps long and deliberate. The hospital corridors stretched ahead, sterile and unending. Sounds of footsteps and voices around did not reach him. Nurses exchanged worrisome looks as he passed, but he did not acknowledge them. He could barely feel the fabric of his scrubs sticking to his skin.
The Hospital door swing open with a quiet whoosh, and the city embraced him with its usual frantic energy. Even this late at night, New York City refused to sleep.
Cars honked at the distance, streetlights cast a dreary yellow glow on the sidewalk, and a saxophone played a lonely tune. The hum of the city usually ground him, but tonight it was just distant and hollow sounds.
His feet moved on their own, taking him past neon-lit storefronts and shadowed alleys. Central Park loomed ahead, its trees swinged by the night breeze.
It wasn't until the cold bench pierced his scrubs that he realized where he was. Park Avenue stretched before him, alive with motion—businessmen loosening their ties from their late-night drink, couples laughing as they strolled past, and cabs honking at the unconcerned jaywalkers.
He slumped forward, elbows sinking into his knees and fingers entwined in his hair. His thoughts replayed the day incessantly. Blood-stained gloves, the flatline screech of the heart monitor, and a mother's cries piercing through the hospital walls.
Normally, he would have noticed the uneven paving stone beneath his feet, the distant siren's screaming, and the slight shift in wind direction when a train rumbled underground. Tonight, even the bench felt remote, as if he were looking at the city through a thick pane of glass. The smell of exhaust and hot dogs, a familiar comfort, was only a dull ache in his nose.
It was only then that he became aware of the approaching figure—
"Mind if I join you?" The voice, warm and smooth like his favorite melody.
He looked up.
A man stood alongside the bench with his hands buried into pockets of a well-worn leather jacket. His slender form exuded an natural ease, a presence that somehow managed to hold attention without even asking for it. His sandy-blond hair was artistically unkempt, as if he was just rolled out of bed or had spent the evening ruminating on it.
But it was his eyes that made Elias pause.
Gold, rich and sparkling, with flecks of molten amber—as if sunlight were imprisoned in a glass. They had a soft glow that suggested something deeper, a warmth that didn't belong in the cool evening air.
The man could have been any other New Yorker in his worn blue T-shirt and jeans, blending in with the city's never-ending beat. But there was something else—a slight bit definite energy, as if the space surrounding him was just a little brighter, and the shadows were unwilling to cling to him.
Elias simply shrugged, still lost in his own thoughts.
The man lowered himself next to Elias, leaving just enough space to be courteous but not too far. At first, neither of them talked, leaving the stillness to be filled by the City restless energy.
After a minute, the man tilted his head, his golden eyes warm and piercing. "Rough day?"
Elias let out a breath through his nose that was too phony to be genuine yet was almost a laugh. "You could say that."
"Name's Leo." The man offered his hand.
Elias hesitated, then took the offered hand, his grip slack and almost reluctant. "Elias."
"Nice to meet you Elias," Leo remarked, his smile warm and unwavering.
He reclined back and stretched his legs, as if preparing for a long chat. "Sometimes, just sitting and watching the world move around you helps, don't you think?"
Elias gave him no answer.
Leo breathed and tilted his head to the night sky. "it's funny," he said. "Even the sun, the brightest star in our sky, has moments when it dims. Sunset, eclipse... moments when it's radiance fade."
He looked at Elias, his eyes glinting with something more than casual thoughts. "But there is a beauty in it, too. When the sun sets, the other lights have an opportunity to shine. The stars arise, and the world recalls the quiet elegance of shadows and lights."
Something flared at the back of Elias' consciousness, and he knitted his brows in a frown—recognition? Déjà vu?. Leo's remarks were too accurate; they seemed to fit right in with the gaps in his mind. There was something uncanny about the way he talked, the way his analogies flowed naturally into the discourse.
"I suppose..." Elias mumbled, barely louder than the murmur of the city.
Leo smiled—not the polite, surface-level grin that people used in short talk, but something warmer, something that... recognize him.
"It's okay not to be okay, Elias," he said. His voice low and steady. "It's okay to feel the weight of everything. To sit in the dark for a time. It merely means you are human."
Elias finally looked at Leo—really looked at him. His golden eyes seemed to shine with an ethereal quality. There was something about the way he carried himself, a gentle confidence that felt both strange yet familiar. His lips curved at the edges, not quite a grin or a smile, but enough to suggest that he knew something Elias didn't.
"Who are you?" Elias spoke before he realized he was doing so.
It was more than just a curiosity; it was a demand, a plea, as if the answer would reveal something hidden deep within him.
Leo maintained his smile. if anything, it deepened, his eyes glinting with something incomprehensible.
"Just a friend," he said, his voice soft and leisurely. "Just a friend who understands."
The words should have frustrated him. It was vague, taunting, and dissapointing. But Elias felt a weird sense of calm. His shoulders relaxed, and the knot in his chest ease slightly. He wasn't sure why, but something about Leo's presence made him feel seen in a way he hadn't in years. Perhaps ever.
They remained silent once more. Elias made an effort to contemplate Leo's words about the beauty of dimming.
"You said... even the sun has its moments of fading," Elias mumbled finally. His voice cautious, as if testing the thought on his tongue. "But it always returns, right? It doesn't simply vanish; it regains its strength."
"It does," he answered. "However, it's not always easy to find that brightness again. Sometimes it takes a journey."
"A journey?" Elias elaborates.
Leo inclined his head slightly, as if weighing his next words. "Sometimes, it needs a little help."
Elias frowned again, there was something more to those words—something personal. Something meant for him.
"What kind of help?" he asked.
Leo's smile widened, mischievous yet knowing. "That depends," he said. "Sometimes it's a helpful hands. Sometimes it's a listening ear. And sometimes, it's a reminder—of the inner strength that can pull you out of the darkness."
Elias searched Leo's face, noting his easy confidence and the eyes that appeared to stare through him rather than at him.
"Why are you telling me this? Why do you care?" he asked.
Leo's eyes softened, and for a moment, they were filled with understanding rather than friendliness. A level of compassion that felt almost too much, too knowledgeable, as if he had witnessed everything Elias had been through, every sorrow, every loss.
"Because everyone deserves to find their light, Elias," he added, his voice calm but confident. "Especially those who spend their lives bringing light to others."
The remarks struck a chord with Elias, reflecting his calling as a healer and his strong empathy for his patients. However, they also hinted at something beyond, something beyond his comprehension of himself and his purpose.
Before Elias could inquire further, Leo stood, his movements smooth and effortless, as if he had never experienced doubt.
"I have to go," he murmured, putting his hands in his pockets. "But I have a feeling we'll meet again."
Elias felt a peculiar sense of anxiousness in his chest. He stood, too. "Wait—" The question came out before he could stop it. "Who are you? Really?"
Leo paused mid-step and turned just enough to look over his shoulder, mischief evident behind those golden eyes. He leaned in slightly, his voice dropping to a conspiratorial whisper.
"Let's just say," he mumbled, "I admire your work. And I believe you have a bigger role to play than you realize."
Then, with a wink and one final enigmatic smile, he vanished into the crowd, swallowed by the city's rhythm, leaving Elias standing there—alone, restless, and with more questions than answers.