I couldn’t tell you how many times I’d wondered if there was a way to cheat death. Ever think about that? How you’d slip out of its grip, just once, when it finally came for you? I thought about it a lot. Every time I closed my eyes, I wondered if this would be it — my last night. Or if death would stay merciful.
And somehow… it always did.
If I was lucky, I’d wake up the next morning — not refreshed, not rested — just alive. Barely. A little bit thankful, a lot more exhausted. It felt like I’d slept through the night, but my body told a different story. Like I’d been fighting in my dreams, running from something I couldn’t remember.
When I finally dragged myself out of bed, it was an effort — every single time. Even standing felt like too much. And when I made the mistake of looking in the mirror, I barely recognized the face staring back. Pale skin. Dark circles so deep they looked bruised. Hollow eyes that hadn’t seen real rest in… God, how long had it been?
Two years.
Two years of this. And somehow, I was still here. But I had no idea how.
"I know this isn’t easy to hear." The doctor’s voice was calm, careful — I felt like he was afraid I’d shatter if he spoke too loud. "The surgery could improve your quality of life, maybe even save it — but the costs can be overwhelming without insurance. We can explore other treatment options first if you’re not ready to commit to something this expensive."
Expensive. Right. That was the word that killed the conversation for me.
I sat there, nodding like I was processing it, but my mind had already checked out. Because let’s be real — what was there to process? I couldn’t even afford regular check-ups, and now they were talking about surgery.
My savings? A joke. My paycheck? Barely enough to keep the lights on and food in the fridge. Living alone didn’t mean I had any extra cash lying around. It just meant there was no one to split the bills with.
All thanks to my glamorous job as a Customer Support Representative — which, let’s face it, had to be the lowest-paying position in the entire company. Or maybe I was just bitter. Hard to tell when you spend most of your day pinned to a desk, listening to strangers scream at you because their Wi-Fi’s slow or their account got overcharged by two bucks.
But I wasn’t complaining. Not really. Complaining took energy — and I didn’t have much of that left. I wanted to quit. God, I wanted to quit so bad. Just walk out, finally get some rest, stop feeling like my body was falling apart one day at a time.
But how was I supposed to quit when I couldn’t even afford to breathe without calculating the cost? Where would the money come from? How would I eat? What was I supposed to do — call my parents?
Yeah. No.
My parents weren’t dead — but they might as well have been. Drug addiction had turned them into people I barely recognized. Even sober, they were… gone.
So, yeah. I was alone. Had been for a long time.
Having a job in my thirties was supposed to be a blessing — especially without a college degree. And sure, maybe it was. But damn, I wish someone would notice how hard I worked and actually do something about it. A raise. A bonus. Anything.
Not that I was holding my breath.
Still, a little extra money would mean a lot. It might even help me deal with… this. This complication I’d been dragging around like a weight chained to my ankles. But instead of getting ahead, I was here — stuck in this tiny cubicle, my body screaming for rest while I pretended I was perfectly fine.
Not that it was convincing anyone. I could feel the way people’s eyes lingered, the way they’d glance at the dark circles under mine, the slouch in my posture. But I couldn’t let it slip. Couldn’t show weakness. I had to perform. Had to execute my job perfectly.
I had to keep going.
Because if I stopped—if I let myself slow down for even a second—I’d rot.
And who the hell wants to rot in a tiny, suffocating apartment like this? If I was gonna die, I’d at least want it to be somewhere… bigger. Somewhere with space to breathe.
But that meant I had to keep moving. Keep pushing. No matter how tired I was.
"Hah… crazy." I muttered it to the ceiling, out on the cold, wooden floor of my dim apartment room. "Surgery, huh?"
The word felt distant. Unreal. Like trying to catch smoke with my bare hands.
Severe OSA.
That’s what the doctors called it. Severe obstructive sleep apnea. I’d been diagnosed in my late twenties, and somehow, I was still breathing. Most days, it didn’t feel like it. Most days, it felt like I was already halfway gone.
"Crazy, right?" I whispered to no one. Then a laughed. "Ha… ha… hahahaha." I clutched my stomach, the laughter shaking my ribs. It wasn’t funny. None of this was funny. But when you’re this tired, everything starts sounding like a goddamn joke.
Maybe I should just sleep through it. See if I wake up tomorrow. Or maybe I wouldn’t. Wouldn’t that be easier? Just close my eyes and let it happen.
The floor wasn’t so bad, anyway. Cold, sure, but comforting in a weird way. Familiar. It reminded me of being a kid—lying on the living room floor with my arms stretched out, my parents nearby, no weight on my shoulders. No endless exhaustion.
Back when life didn’t feel like drowning.
Knock. Knock.
The sound snapped me out of my thoughts. I blinked, pushing myself up with a groan. My joints protested, my body slow and sluggish. I adjusted my sweatshirt, ran a hand through my hair, and shuffled toward the door.
"Who’s that?" My voice cracked, rough and tired as I cleared my throat.
"It’s Maya! Open up, unc!"
Oh, this little—
I yanked the door open, and there she was. Maya. Mid-teens, all energy and attitude. Short, dark brown hair half-tucked behind her ears. She grinned up at me like she owned the place.
She and her grandmother lived next door. I’d known them since I moved in, and somehow, in that time, she decided I was "unc." Not "mister," not my actual name—just "unc."
"There you are, squirt." I leaned against the doorframe, giving her a look.
"How’s work, unc?"
I ignored the title—like always—and kept my face straight.
"Absolutely fun." My voice was so deadpan it could’ve been a corpse.
The narrative has been taken without authorization; if you see it on Amazon, report the incident.
She burst out laughing, and that’s when I noticed the saucepan in her hands. My stomach already knew what it was. Her grandmother’s cooking. Again.
"Did you eat yet?" she asked.
"No. And I’m guessing your grandma’s sending another dish?"
"Bingo!" She threw one arm up like she’d scored a goal—and the saucepan wobbled dangerously in her grip.
"Hey—!" I lunged, catching the bottom before the whole thing went crashing to the floor. My heart damn near stopped.
"You brat!" I barked, still holding the pan steady. "You almost dropped it!"
"But I didn’t." She grinned, entirely unbothered.
"Whew…"
Maya didn’t even wait. She shoved the saucepan right into my stomach, and I damn near jumped out of my skin.
"What the—!" I snapped, flinching back. "It’s hot, you idiot—"
But… it wasn’t.
I blinked, looking down at the pan. I could’ve sworn I saw steam coming off it, but when it hit my sweatshirt, there was nothing. No burn. I tapped the side with my finger—barely warm.
"Oh. It’s not."
"Grandma made it a while ago. Just heat it up, unc." She was already turning away, waving a hand over her shoulder "Yeah, sure—hey, tell your grandma thanks!" I called after her, watching her disappear down the hallway.
Kind neighbors. That’s what they were. Maya’s grandma was the first one to talk to me when I moved in—sweet old lady, always checking in, always sharing food. And then there was Maya. Quiet at first, but that didn’t last. Now she was all noise and energy and unsolicited nicknames.
I wasn’t sure when I started seeing her like a little sister, but there it was. We weren’t that close, not really—but it was nice, sometimes, sharing a little advice, swapping stories. And her grandma’s cooking? Yeah. That happened every day. Literally. I’d felt weird about it at first, but it’d be rude to turn down a meal made with that much care.
I popped the lid off the pan, and the smell hit me immediately.
"Chicken curry," I muttered, grinning. "Called it."
I set the pan on the stove, not planning to eat right away—but the thought of cooking something later? Yeah, no thanks. This saved me the hassle. And honestly, that was a relief.
When I finally did eat, I went a little overboard. By the time I was done, I was lying on the floor, my stomach stretched tight and uncomfortable. I couldn’t believe I’d managed to finish it all—even the leftover rice.
"Ha… ha…" I groaned, feeling half-dead.
Eventually, I reached for a book. Not just to kill time—reading was my thing. Fiction, poetry, essays… didn’t matter. It was the only thing that unwound my brain after a long day. Made me forget how late it was. Made me forget what was coming.
But the clock kept ticking. And the later it got, the harder it was to ignore it.
How the hell was I supposed to sleep when there was a chance I wouldn’t wake up?
Maybe I should just read all night. Ride it out.
But my body didn’t care what I wanted. Sleep always won in the end. And when it did… the nightmare started all over again.
The suffocating weight.
My hands clawed at my chest, but I couldn’t feel them—couldn’t feel anything except the crushing pressure pushing me down, down, down. My throat locked up, airless and burning. I hadn’t drowned before, but I was pretty sure this was what it felt like.
Sinking. Fighting. And losing.
I woke up again. And again. And again. Each time slipping back into that suffocating hell until the sun finally dragged me out of it. But it wasn’t relief — just another kind of exhaustion. Like I hadn’t slept at all.
My head pounded. My throat felt like sandpaper. Every muscle in my body ached, like I’d been in a fight and lost badly.
"Son of a bitch! Son of a bitch!" I shouted, my voice cracking. Sweat poured down my face, soaking the sheets beneath me. I didn’t care if the neighbors heard. Let them. I needed to let it out — the frustration, the fear, the goddamn exhaustion — before I dragged myself through another day.
Eventually, I got up. Pulled myself together. Put on the mask. Like always.
I used to be grateful just to wake up alive. Now? I was too tired to even think about it. Too tired to care.
This… this was torture.
image [https://static.vecteezy.com/system/resources/thumbnails/027/187/944/small/gold-and-luxury-under-line-png.png]
“Good morning, sir! How can I help you today?”
The words came out smooth, bright — like I hadn’t spent the night drowning in my own body.
They taught us to smile when we spoke, said people could hear it over the phone. Said it changed the whole atmosphere.
Maybe it did.
But right then, my hand kept slipping on the receiver, my grip weak and unsteady. My eyes burned, struggling to stay open.
“…follow… order… yesterday… wondering if… add… product… necessary?”
The words blurred together. My head spun. I forced myself to stay upright, to stay on the call — even when his voice faded into static.
“Hey.”
The sound barely registered.
“Hey! Are you there?”
Shit.
I jolted upright, my heart slamming against my ribs. “Oh—no! I-I apologize for the pause, sir. Something… happened. Could you repeat that, please?”
My voice shook. I knew it. He probably did, too.
This was the first time my sleep apnea had followed me to work — and I had no idea how much longer I could keep it at bay.
“I said,” the customer repeated, his tone a little sharper now, “I was wondering if I could add another product to my current order?”
I swallowed hard, forcing my focus back. “Of course, sir. Let’s get that sorted for you right away.”
Smile. Sound bright. Stay awake.
The day passed in a blur of paper and noise — documents piled on my desk, calls stacking up, angry customers waiting to unload their misery onto me. If I could swear at them, I would’ve done it a long time ago. God knows they deserved it.
But I didn’t. Because I needed this job.
So I kept my mouth shut. Bit back the frustration. Let it pile up right alongside everything else.
Even when I was too busy to breathe, I could feel the eyes on me. My coworkers. My manager. Their glances were quick but obvious — Did I really look that bad?
image [https://static.vecteezy.com/system/resources/thumbnails/027/187/944/small/gold-and-luxury-under-line-png.png]
When I finally got home, the sun was already gone. The world was dark, and so was I.
What was I supposed to feel? Relief? Accomplishment?
I felt empty. Worn thin. Like my body was devouring itself just to keep moving.
I scratched at my scalp — more hair came loose. My skin itched, my nerves were shot, and every little thing grated on me.
“Unc, you look like crap.”
I looked up to see Maya standing at her door, their dog sitting at her feet, looking about as judgmental as she did.
“Wow, thanks. That’s exactly what I needed,” I muttered, yanking at my tie.
“I’m just saying. When’s the last time you actually slept? Like… really slept?”
Her voice sounded off — quieter than usual. Even she sounded tired.
“I sleep every night,” I said. It wasn’t a lie. Not really.
“You sure don’t look like it.”
I snorted, putting my tie in my pocket.
“Seriously, though — you okay?” she asked.
“I’m fine.”
“You’re a terrible liar, you know that?”
I looked at her, deadpan. Then I smiled.
She flinched. “Okay, that’s creepy. Don’t do that.”
I waved her off, the same way I always did. I didn’t need her worrying about me. She had better things to focus on — more important things than my sleepless nights and slow collapse.
“Unc?”
“Yeah?”
“Ever think about taking a break? A real one? Like… an actual vacation?”
I laughed — a short, bitter sound. “Sure. I’ll just grab my overflowing savings and book a two-week cruise. Oh wait—”
“God, you’re so dramatic.” She rolled her eyes. “When was the last time you did anything fun? You only ever go to work.”
I paused. When was the last time I had fun? I couldn’t remember. Even if I’d had the time, I wouldn’t have enjoyed it — not with this constant weight pressing down on me.
“I… don’t know.”
“That’s messed up, Unc.”
“Yeah,” I said quietly. “It is.”
The sky stretched out above me — wide, empty, endless. I stared up at it without really seeing, my mind just as blank.
“Hey, you should come over for dinner sometime,” Maya said, her voice breaking the quiet. “Grandma keeps asking about you.”
“Yeah… maybe next time.” I didn’t even look at her. Didn’t have the energy.
“Unc, that’s free food. Like, FREE FOOD.”
That almost got a laugh out of me. Almost. “We’ll see.”
“Better hurry. You’re looking, like… one bad day away from keeling over.”
I smirked. “If I do, I’m definitely haunting you.”
“Cool! I’ve always wanted a ghost uncle. You could totally haunt my teachers.”
We both laughed — hers light and easy, mine low and strained. My back felt like it was folding in on itself, but somehow I still managed to let out that sound. It felt strange.
“Seriously though,” she said after a moment. “Take care of yourself, okay? Grandma says the same thing.”
“Yeah…” My voice barely made it out. “I’ll try.”
image [https://static.vecteezy.com/system/resources/thumbnails/027/187/944/small/gold-and-luxury-under-line-png.png]
My apartment was dark and silent when I stepped inside. Too silent.
The floor felt unsteady beneath me, my legs threatening to buckle with every step. My vision blurred, edges softening, my focus slipping in and out. It was like my brain couldn’t latch onto anything.
Thud.
I didn’t even make it to the couch. Just let my back hit the cold, hard floor and stayed there — still in my suit, shoes and all. Couldn’t even find the strength to kick them off.
“This again,” I muttered, my voice lost in the quiet.
But there was a strange kind of peace in it. No phones ringing. No angry voices. Just the sound of my own breathing — heavy and uneven.
At some point, hours must’ve passed because I found myself in my bedroom without remembering how I got there. I stared up at the ceiling, my mind turning over the same question it always did: How much longer can I keep this up?
I didn’t have an answer.
But I did have the urge — that old, familiar pull I hadn’t felt in months. My hand reached for the notebook on my nightstand, fingers brushing over the worn cover. I grabbed a pen and flipped to a fresh page.
This was my ritual. My last words — just in case I didn’t wake up tomorrow.
I used to do this every night. Stopped for a while when it felt like work.
So why was I starting again?
Should I write an appreciation letter? Or just… scribble some nonsense? Maybe a doodle. Hell, whatever. I managed to get a few words down eventually.
Not that I’ll tell you what they were. My head was spinning too much, my eyes barely staying open. The words didn’t even feel real. Just ink on paper.
Huff.
Huff…
Time slipped away. When I came to, I was gasping, clutching my chest like my heart was trying to rip its way out. Sweat poured off me, soaking my clothes, my skin cold and clammy. I tried to breathe. Failed. Tried again.
It took minutes—long, awful minutes—but eventually, the panic eased.
Huff.
Huff…
And then… I slept.
But the thought stayed with me, gnawing at the edge of my mind.
Could I cheat dying?
image [https://static.vecteezy.com/system/resources/thumbnails/027/187/944/small/gold-and-luxury-under-line-png.png]
When I opened my eyes—if I even had eyes—I wasn’t in my room. Everything was white. Endless and empty. The pain was gone, the pressure in my chest just… gone. Even the pounding in my skull had vanished.
But this place—this eerie, silent nothingness—I knew it. I’d dreamed of it before. I was sure of it. And if it was the same… then something was coming.
Someone.
The air rippled.
And then it appeared—no, not a figure. An energy. A mass of dark, crimson smoke, writhing like it was alive. It wasn’t human. It wasn’t anything I had words for. But I knew it. Just like I knew this place.
Huff…
Huff…
Huff…
Then a voice—deep, raw, furious—thundered through the emptiness.
“BLEEDING AETHER!”
The hell—? Who said that? It wasn’t me. I couldn’t even move, except for my eyes, flicking desperately toward the smoke.
The voice roared again, vibrating through me like it was shaking my bones apart.
“I CAN’T BELIEVE I MADE A PACT WITH A HUMAN!”
A pact? What the hell was it talking about?
I needed to wake up. Right now.
I fought against the weight pinning me down, tried to force my body to move. My mind screamed at me—Wake up! Wake up, you idiot! WAKE UP!
But I couldn’t.
The voice kept raging, its words burning into me.
“THIS IS CRAZY! A HUMAN! BLEEDING AETHER!”
Was this it? Had I finally died, just like I’d always been afraid of?
But… if this was death, why did it feel so—
Peaceful.
Better than anything I’d felt in a long time.
Was this heaven? Was God real? And if He was, why did He sound like a furious smoke monster?
Had I really died?
No. I couldn’t have. Not yet.
I hadn’t bought a house. I hadn’t started my business. I hadn’t gotten rich.
I hadn’t—
DAMN IT.