Edge of Vision - The Rewrite

Chapter 1 - The End

  edge of vision

"It is the nature of man to gape and marvel at the big bang, but ignore the subtle majesty of the Silence that preceded it"

-Obi

<Oct 13,2017> (Really bad day)

The day I died started like any other day. As some sort of cosmic "fuck you" to my bleak itinerary for the day, the birds are merrily chirping away and the sky is coated in varying shades of the deepest indigo interspersed with fiery comet streaks of blazing orange, a mad artist's canvas of colors blended together in violent symphony. I'd spent most of the night restless between the sheets and took the glazed pre dawn hues spilling in through the blinds as enough excuse to roll off the queen size bed I share with Mei, My wife of just over two weeks, in our small studio apartment on North Washington Avenue. I have lived in the United States for roughly three months, and my life since I got off the plane at the Minneapolis St Paul Airport has been an adventure of Tolkien proportions. I stare at Mei's features in the soft pre-dawn light, and I can't help the smile that breaks across my face. I wince at in pain as my dry lips split a little. You'd never hear anyone describe her as "beautiful". Words like "interesting" or "compelling" seem more appropriate. I've learned from experience to avoid ascribing any adjectives to her. My Mei is as prone to change as spinning dice.

I gulp down a cup of cold tap water and run my wet tongue over my lips. The cool sensation on my skin is sharply juxtaposed against the acute bite of water against the cracked arid landscape of my lips. The water tastes a little bit off, but all tap water has that distinct tap taste, a history of all the pipes it has run through, lingering on your tongue even after your last swallow. I'm really thirsty so I suppress my distaste as I pour myself another cup.

I give Mei a small shake, we always joke that she could sleep through her own kidnapping.

"Good morning puppy"

Her groggy look and mumbled reply morphs into a look of alarm as she catches sight of the empty cup in my hands.

"Obi, You aren't supposed to drink any liquids!"

"This ... uh, is for you. I was going to pour you a cup of coffee."

I'm not sure why I lied, but I shuffle over to our designated kitchen space and pour her a cup of coffee, to convert my lie into the truth, and also to hide the guilt on my face.

A little over an hour later, and we are in a taxi on Highway twenty two heading towards the Mankato Surgery Center. My stomach is a bit unsettled, and I feel slightly nauseous but I chuck that up to nerves, and the realization that in a few hours I will be getting cut up by a total stranger. There is a general indifference from doctors to the act of surgery that feels psychopathic at its core. How do you dissociate from the action of slicing up living tissue and playing around in its insides ?

I can tell Mei is nervous as well because she is obsessing over the sheaf of pre-surgery information that was handed to me at my last doctor's appointment.

"Did you stop taking the aspirin?"

"Yep."

" No food or drink in the last twenty-four hours?"

"Check." I respond, even though it's only half true.

"No rashes or illness?"

"Check."

"No alcohol or tobacco in the last twenty four hours?"

I can't help my sigh of exasperation "You've been with me the last twenty four hours boo."