Reaper's Lullaby

Gus: Alive

"Courage isn't having the strength to go on – it is going on when you have no strength."
– Napoleon Bonaparte

For the second time, Gus woke up in the hospital bed at the ranch. And just like last time, it was all because of some crazy mental breakdown he'd had. What had he done now?

The last thing he could remember was bleeding out on the bathroom floor in his room, looking forward to seeing Adam again. Then a staff member came in and found him. That's when things got fuzzy.

Gus had been sure he would be reunited with Adam the second he lost consciousness, but he realized with a jolt of sadness that he hadn't even dreamed about his friend. A horrible thought hit him: what if there was nothing beyond death after all? What if he never saw Adam again, and every one of their meetings since his death had just been a dream? It was too awful to dwell upon, and Gus shoved the idea out of his head.

He glanced down and saw that both of his wrists were bandaged. When he looked up again he noticed a camera in the upper corner of the room near the door. As soon as he saw it, the door opened. They must have been spying on him.

It was Jeff.

"How you feeling?" Jeff asked, sitting down on the edge of the bed. Gus felt the thin mattress sink around his feet.

"I guess I'm alive," Gus replied.

"Is that okay?" Jeff asked in the patient but probing tone he used during sessions.

"I don't know. I'm not sure what the point is."

"The point of what?"

"Me being alive," Gus mumbled, hoping it made sense. He was never good with explaining his feelings.

"You think it's over for you," Jeff stated, confirming everything Gus had been feeling for weeks, the core of his depression.

"Yeah. I don't get it. I don't understand why I keep on living when everyone else dies. Mahaylia. Adam. What's the point? I don't got nobody to love and nobody who loves me. So why am I here? It's like I'm some joke to God that he can't stop tellin' even though everybody's sick of it."

Jeff was thoughtful. He didn't speak again for several minutes. Then he said,

"The place you're in, Gus, is very small. Depression shrinks your world. You can only see what's right in front of you, and it's a brick wall. You ever seen that movie called Honey I Shrunk the Kids?"

Gus smirked at the silly sounding name. "Nope."

Jeff nodded. "Figured. It's an 80's movie I grew up with. Basically this guy invents a shrinking machine and accidentally shrinks his kids down to bug size. They end up in the trash on the sidewalk and have to make their way back to the house through the front yard. Now, they'd walked across that front yard a thousand times before. Took 'em a few seconds maybe. But when they shrink? The yard becomes a jungle, miles and miles away from the house, filled with huge bugs trying to eat them and all kinds of crazy shit they'd never even imagined when they were normal size."

"So what does that have to do with me?" Gus asked.

"Here's what I'm trying to say. That yard was the same yard. It never changed. What changed was the way they saw it. Depression is like that shrinking machine. What you're battling seems bigger than you, but the world is the same, Gus. You just can't see it the same way you used to, but it's the same. It's got the same hopes, joys, chances, and love. But all you can see right now is the jungle. If you can just keep walking you'll make it out. I swear it."

Gus looked down at his bandaged wrists again. "So, did they ever make it back to the house?"

Jeff smiled. "I'm not giving away the ending. You'll just have to watch it."