Fragments

Now

I am going to die.

It is a fact, but I am still afraid.

Not of death, but of after. After the operation. After my demise, after the cure, after they've picked up all the fragments of our past life and built something new, something better, years from now - will they remember me?

They say they will. The world is indebted to me. For my contribution. For my sacrifice, my life. But I am just sixteen years of life, and sixteen years is incomparable to the thousands upon thousands of years that will be lived out in peace and with no fear because of my death.

So I am afraid they will forget me.

They ask me to write, as if paper can hold the hardships I've suffered, the deaths I've witnessed, the secrets I've kept. I am half sure that they'll jump out of the page and inflict others with their pain.

I hold the sheaf of papers in my hand now. They gave me a stapler a few minutes ago; I'm still staring at it, wondering if really this is going to be the end. My story seems incomplete, its ending a cliffhanger.

I move myself to staple it. At least I've got something down, and I don't want them to get out of order. I won't be there to arrange it back if it does.

When I go under this time I won't be coming back up.

"Hey."

I look up; it's Nicholas. I feel naked in front of him, because I almost am. All I'm wearing is a skimpy hospital gown that's almost sheer. I cross my arms across my chest and look down at my feet. They dangle over the floor, and no matter how much I stretch my toes, they won't touch the surface.

"Hi."

"Are you ready?"

I look back up. "Yes."

Nicholas sits down on a chair besides the operating table and touches my shoulder. His voice is timid when he asks, "Are you scared?"

"Yes." I meet his gaze. "But being scared won't change my decision. This is how things are, and this is how things will be."

Nicholas keeps quiet. He looks at the clock hanging on the wall. The time is shown in glaring red; 10: 20 am.

Ten minutes to go.

"Did you do this because you had no choice, or because you really think it's going to help?"

I stare at him, startled by his question. It takes me a moment to think it over, to try to answer as honestly as I can.

"I did it because it was the right thing to do," I say, "I did it because I thought it was the right thing to do."

"You are a brave girl."

"Don't talk to me as if you're twenty years older than me or something." I force a laugh. "You're only nineteen."

He didn't reply. Silence filled the room.

Then - "You're only sixteen."

"You just found out?" I nudge him jokingly, but when he looks up I see tears in his eyes.

"No." I give him a quick kiss on his cheek. "Don't feel sorry for me, please, don't feel - "

"How can I not? I forced you to do this. I captured you and brought you to your death, pretended to help when really all I'm doing is leading you down a trap, to this God-forsaken place."

"Nicholas - "

"It's my fault, Eva. I'll live the rest of my life with guilt - with the reminder of your death every time I wake up and find myself alive when you're not."

"Don't remember me because of my death, Nicholas. Remember me because of my life."

I thrust the stapled sheaf of papers towards him. He hesitates, but takes it anyway.

"This is your - "

"Story." I grip the edge of the operating table, now that I have nothing to fiddle with. "It's my life story."

Nicholas looks back up. His eyes search mine. I wonder what he's looking for. Hatred? Anger? He'll find none.

"This isn't your fault, Nicholas," I tell him, holding his hand, squeezing it tight. I close my eyes and savor the way love, the way friendship feels like. It's funny that only a few minutes before my death have I found the true meaning of life well lead.

"I chose this. I'm not going to let something as important as the ending of my life to be in someone else's hands. Not even yours, Nicholas."

He cups my face and brings his forehead to mine. My eyes remain closed. In the stillness, I hear our hearts beating a steady, quiet rhythm.

"Thank you for your friendship, Nicky," I say.

Nicholas leans in and kisses me through my hair. I feel the wetness of his tears and the heat of his cheeks. He hugs me, holding me tight.

"I'm here," he says. "All the way. I won't leave you alone."

"I know."

"I love you, Eva. Always. And I will miss you." He turns his face into my shoulder. The angle of his still boyish jaw digs into my shoulder, but I don't care.

We only have each other in this world. A few minutes later I'll be gone.

And he'll be alone.

"Miss Faciens? Are you ready?"

We both look up. A nurse smiles at us both.

"General Valere? We need you to wear some scrubs. For hygienic purposes, of course."

He straightens himself. "Of course."

"Miss Faciens?" She turns to me. "We shall begin soon. Do you have any special last-minute requests?"

"No, nothing."

There is no doubt in my mind.

I am going to die.