"Mr. Adam."
"Yes."
"How are you feeling?"
"Like usual…" a young man replied. He looked to be around his twenties, with golden blonde hair and green eyes.
By any standard, he would've been considered a good-looking man, except that he looked emaciated, with dark circles under his eyes that indicated deep exhaustion or a lack of sleep.
Adam stroked the faint stubble covering his sunken cheeks while his eyes subtly shifted from the woman wearing a spotless white coat to the brightly lit office.
Finally, he looked at his thin hands, at his wrinkled black T-shirt, at his old, stained jeans, and his worn-out Air Force Ones.
His unsightly appearance wasn't new to him, yet it always managed to twist knots in his stomach whenever he had to meet other people.
"How I'm feeling right now isn't important, Doctor. Will my insurance cover the cost of the tests?" he said after a long pause without looking at her.
His eyes were glued to his weathered clothes, bearing the discomfort and loss stemming from his miserable situation.
It was as if the roof shielding him from the wind and rain had been ripped away. Leaving him shivering in the cold.
"What a fucked-up situation…" he murmured.
"Come again?" The doctor looked at him, confused.
"Nothing." Adam shook his head and looked at the doctor.
"O-Okay." She had a look of pity in her eyes that was clear to see. Adam didn't like her stare; he fidgeted in his chair, fingers tightening and interlocking, waiting for an answer.
Fortunately, he didn't have to squirm for long before she opened a dossier and looked inside for a moment.
"You don't have to worry about that. The hospital is sponsored by a financial assistance program, which will cover the cost of your tests."
"Especially for people in your situation," she added after a pause.
"Glad to hear that," he nodded. His words, hollow to the doctor's ear, revealed a change she noticed after she broke the news to him.
He didn't appear to be shocked. No, he faced it with acceptance; however, his body language indicated that he didn't want to be here.
Eyes evading her stare, foot constantly tapping on the floor, and frequent shifts in his posture as if he were sitting on a pile of needles.
"I think I should go now, Doctor Yang." He shakily stood up from his seat and looked at the doctor, who met his gaze with a nod, respecting his wishes.
"I hope that you'll still attend chemotherapy," she said hesitantly while handing him his patient file. "At least it'll give you a few more weeks or months."
"I don't think that'll be necessary." He forced a smile he knew wouldn't fool anyone.
At this moment, Adam didn't wish to think, nor did he want to hear any comforting words; he just wanted to go to sleep. Maybe this reality that punched him hard in the gut would just go away.
But he knew it wouldn't. It felt bitter; it felt surreal. The hope he had harboured for recovery was squashed before he even began treatment, and now he was supposed to tightly hold himself together, right here, right now.
He turned around, his steps trudging slowly as he reached for the door handle, then paused.
"Thank you for your support, Doctor. I want you to pass my thanks to the hospital as well, for their care and generosity," he quietly said, then went out of the office.
Doctor Yang sighed. She felt the gratitude in his words, but there was no comfort or help she could give him right now.
He wasn't her first terminal-stage cancer patient, nor would he be the last.
It never became easy, and it never will...
She was lost in thought for a few moments before she took a form and started filling in Adam's information.
"At least you won't be burdened by your treatment cost. This much, I can do."
People walked past Adam as he slowly made his way to the reception desk. They shifted around him, like a mirage, unnoticed; his mind didn't register their presence, nor did he recall any faces. Like a puppet, he handed his medical file to the reception nurse and headed out of the hospital.
Outside, he was met by a warm sun and a cool breeze.
"Well, isn't it a good day…" he said self-deprecatingly, his eyes passing briefly over the patients sitting in the shade. Some wore their medical gowns, some sat with their families, talking and laughing among themselves.
Adam closed his eyes, his hands shivering despite the warm weather, while his feet carried him to the bus stop. He sat waiting, trying to calm what felt like a funeral inside him.
The bus came half an hour later, breaking his contemplation about the futility of any effort to reverse his situation.
Twenty minutes later, he got off the bus. Another ten-minute walk took him to a two-story building nestled at the corner of a narrow street, peeking at a much larger road that accommodated numerous shops and a large number of pedestrians.
Adam took his keys and opened the door to what appeared to be a humble restaurant that was once filled with life.
But now, as he looked at it, deserted, empty tables, lacking the voice of his mother coming from the kitchen, taking customers' orders from the waiter, from him.
"Good afternoon," he said to no one. He moved to the fridge, where he took a bottle of energy drink and a pre-made convenience store sandwich.
He ascended the stairs at the back, turning on the light switches as he passed through a narrow corridor.
"I'm leaving the lights on, Mother, just like you always reminded me."
No one would reply. He knew that, but ever since his mother's passing two years ago from the same illness, this had become a habit he fooled himself with, thinking she'd hear his voice, even though he knew she wouldn't, but he didn't care.
Adam took off his shoes before entering the bedroom. The room was spacious enough to hold a large double bed, a TV stand, a closet nestled inside a wall recess, and a PC desk.
He moved and sat before the monitor that was still lit, casting a blue light over his emaciated face.
CLICK, CLICK, CLICK
Adam opened a Google Docs page, then picked up a white quill and blank paper from the side of the desk. He put them before him, looking at them thoughtfully.
The quill was a gift from his mother, bought three years ago as a surprise after she got tired of him constantly telling her stories about one of his favorite fictional characters.
"Let's do this before I go…" Adam muttered, opening wiki pages one after the other from the Marvel and LOTM universes, gathering information to fulfill one of his small wishes: writing a fanfiction.
It was by no means a difficult thing to do, yet, as he put his hands on the keyboard to type something, nothing came to mind. His thoughts were too scattered, his heart too numb to properly write from any perspective, except a very dark one.
Minutes passed, yet nothing. Adam closed the tabs he was about to source some information from.
He picked up the quill and wrote:
Premise:
Adam Winters, a twenty-four-year-old young man, suddenly dies overnight, only to be reborn in the Marvel universe as a mutant with the full abilities of Adam Grisha, the Visionary.
After finishing this short sentence, he stopped. He didn't care about including his name or personal details in his work, nor did he care about which Marvel universe he was writing about, or how overpowered the abilities of his character were.
Hell, he didn't even know whether he'd be able to write proper chapters before death took him away.
Holding the quill in his hand, he stood up and threw himself onto the bed.
Exhaustion crept through his body, his thoughts flickering like a dying candle, moments from snuffing out.
He felt weary, his eyes fighting to remain open, and yet his mind knew better, as the emotional turmoil he had experienced overcame his will to stay awake.
To wake up for another day, knowing nothing would change.
A new day, yet with an expiration date looming on the horizon.
"Maybe it won't be long, Mother…" he said half awake.
"Before I come and see you again… perhaps in a better place."
"Yeah, perhaps…" His eyes closed one last time, his breath stilled into an eternal silence.
Hands wrapped around an ornate silver quill that soon turned to ashes.
Gone, just like the breath that once gave life to his being.