It's Only Us in the World

That Was Her Name

Today I'm going to die.

A curious expression pierced my face as my fingers traced over the words on the page. I sat ever so diligently in the silent hospital reception hall, taking note of the patients around me. Some were wounded, others distraught over their hurt loved ones, and many ill. I turned away with a sharp chill, my gaze phasing from face to face and finally back to the book in my hands. I counted the seconds as they ticked by with each elongated breath, spinning my mind to avoid thinking about anything, really. I was there for maybe 24 minutes. 25. I don't really remember.

And that's the funny part. I'm going to die and nobody knows. So today's going to be the best and worst day of my short-lived life.

I wasn't there because I was wounded. I wasn't there for a hurt loved one. And I wasn't there because I was ill. I was a normal person in search of being a normal intern so I could grow up and live a normal life. It hurt, but there was nothing else I could do. It's fated.

Today, I'm going to hang myself. Nobody knows why, not even me sometimes. But every day is a breath I have to hold longer and I'm just done with breathing, really.

Tell me about it. I'm sure my lungs have already reached full capacity but I'm still sucking in more air in hopes of the moment of exhale. As the hall slowly began to clear, I found myself posing a smile towards the woman behind the desk.

"You'll want to take a left at the end of that hall down there," she gestured. "You'll see another desk where you can ask about jobs and such. Thank you for being so patient with us." A worried glint illuminated her eyes. "We aren't usually this busy."

I widened my facade.

"Not a problem. Thank you so much for the help."

The helpful lady nodded me away as I recalibrated the given directions. I forced my vision away from the rooms and to the ground at my feet. The last thing I wanted was to play my sympathy card for someone I'd forget about the next day. It hurts, but it's true.

But my senses seemed to escape me for a moment when I stumbled over a small pink-haired girl. We crumpled to the ground like a deck of fluttering cards.

"I'm so sorry- are you alright?" I asked in a haze. My eyes couldn't quite adjust to the weight of the crash. When only silence and the sound of shuffling followed my inquiry, my concern rang louder. As my vision cleared, I was shocked to find a friendly face brimming with pink tears. Pink, ugly, sick tears. I held in the urge to puke. Maybe she found out a loved one had passed. Or maybe she was notified that she had an incurable disease. Or maybe she was just scared. Just scared. Scared of everything.

I watched her struggle to articulate words through her pained cries. Uneasily, I sprawled to my feet and held open a hand. Her soft sniffles paused for a moment, nothing more than a brief one, and she took my hand.

"T-Thank you," she could barely mutter. Her words slipped by in gentle hushes. Streaks of watery arrays cradled down her cheeks unevenly and I couldn't help but wonder what happened.

"Is everything alright?" I watched her trip to her feet clumsily. "You seem...uneasy."

"...I'm fine, thank you," she murmured. She released herself from my grip to wipe the tears from her eyes, but to my surprise, she placed her hand back into mine.

"Oh- uhm..." I could feel my face burn lightly at the feeling of her skin on mine. "Do you want me to buy you a snack or something?"

Words couldn't describe how much I was suffocating.