Narrative: Last Day

I wrote this piece while reflecting on my own life. The story is projected 13 years into the future.

 When I arose, as usual, at 7 am in the morning, I was prepared.
 Today was the day I would die.
 Without hesitation, I picked up my phone, an antique model from decades ago. “I’m taking leave today,” I said blatantly.
 Now, it was settled. It has all gone according to plan. The television was switched on. The recliner was set back.
 I would spend my last day alone in the comfort of a home I had built for the past five years.

 “There is no cure,” she says. Her words were matter-of-fact, with no trace of humor. I knew she was deathly serious. I was too.
 “When will I go?” I ask, trying my hardest to hide the fear, to uphold the image of the strong person I had carved for myself. Pride, as it had been since my birth, was a big issue.
 “April third, 2026. At 10 pm, your entire body will immediately and automatically shut down. You will die right then.” I wondered how it felt to be someone who had to be the bearer of bad news, like this lady over here. You had a job where you have to explain to every single patient infected with the illness that they would die at a specific time. It must be unpleasant.
 “Are you absolutely certain I will not die earlier?”
 “Your body will function normally right until that time.”
 “Good.”
 I stood up, eager to get away from the fact that I was infected with a newly discovered disease.
 Halfway through the door, a question popped into my mind.
 “Will I infect anyone if I come into contact with them?” I asked.
 “No.”
 I left the room.

 There was a knock on the door.
 There had never been a knock on the door for ages. For a while, I thought I imagined it.
 And there it was again. Knock, knock, knock. Three sure knocks. It definitely was not someone who thought he was at the wrong house.
 I was curious, and, at the same time, apprehensive. What if the doctor went back on her word and told someone to arrange a final farewell for me? What if it was my secretary, here to thrash out her anger about her unsatisfactory salary? I never wanted any of those on my last day.
 I strode over to the front door, and, without any further thoughts, flung it open.
 And there, standing before me, was a face I had not seen in a long time.
 He retained his lanky build from school, certainly. But his face showed me that he has aged. Little wrinkles form at the edges of his eyes. His hair, as usual, was filled with gravity-defying gel. Every single strand was styled to perfection. Bright, twinkling eyes looked straight at me, and in them, I saw the boy I had known from thirteen years ago.
 Here was the little diva, in his full glory.
 “Hello,” he casually greeted me.
 Silently, I took his hand and dragged him in. I plopped him at the edge of my lush, leather sofa.
 “It’s been a long time,” I said. “How have you been?”
 “Great.” His posture told me that he was fully relaxed. He was here for a friendly visit.
 Is it because today is my last day?
 “How are you?” he asked back.
 I wanted to tell him everything. Here, before me, was a friend I had for little over two years, someone who knew me as well as I knew him. I wanted to tell him about this stupid disease that only left me ten hours to live. I wanted to tell him all about my idiotic workers.
 I wanted to tell him that I missed him so much.
 But I kept all that in. I don’t know why he appeared on my doorstep yet.
 “Good,” I respond in a manner similar to his.
 For a short while, there was an awkward silence. I was already used to awkward silences. But I could tell he was not. He was fidgeting.
 “How’s your girlfriend?” I asked. I did not like him silent. It reminded me of horrible memories.
 “Don’t have one yet.”
 I laughed out loud, a wholehearted laugh. A guy like him without a girlfriend? Someone so nice, and so beautiful, inside and out, without a girlfriend?
 Heaven should be punished.
 “I see you live alone too.” I see a quirky smile forming on his face. He thought he had me beat. I laughed even harder.
 And then he joined in.

 Since that moment, we began to talk as ourselves again.
 I found out that since we graduated, he went on to pursue a career in the film industry. Though he never made it to Hollywood, he was content that he was able to stay and experience the local culture. It motivated him to create films that showcase the country even more.
 I told him about my work. Sometimes, I hated being the big boss of the company. I hated having to deal with workers who would never set their priorities straight. I hated having to worry day after day about finances and money.
 Throughout the whole conversation, I found that we were rediscovering each other all over again. I had found a friend to confide in; He had found a friend to share his life experiences with.
 But, after all this, a question still harbored my mind. Why was he here today?
 I left that question at the back of my mind as I talked to the boy I had a crush on, way back then. Except that he was older.
 It was six the next time I looked at the clock. Four hours left. I almost ran out of time.
 I had no more time. I had to ask him.
 “Why did you come here today?”
 He was stunned for a moment, and then he smiled. In swift movements, he brought out a neat little box carefully wrapped in crisp, old paper.
 “Happy birthday. Your thirtieth.”
 Now, it was my turn to be stunned. He remembered, after all these years, while I was so busy I had forgotten.
 Today was my thirtieth birthday.
 He came back for my thirtieth birthday. I was moved to tears. I had never broken down in front of anyone in a long time. Today, I leant on his shoulder, a smile plastered on my face as tears of joy rolled down my cheeks.
 His shoulder felt warm. It smelt of him. It was a wonderful place to be.

The night sky was filled with stars. Here, with almost no light pollution coming from buildings, we watched the sky shimmer and sparkle.

It was so beautiful.

I did not regret breaking the rules and coming out of our tent. I did not regret staying up so late even though my body told me to collapse. I did not regret being up here. With him.

I began to write as I listened to his light snore. Poetry was a subtle, powerful form of expression always flowing through me. Under this lively night sky, everything seemed possible.

I wish I could hold you so close

That we will breathe as one

I wish I could take every footsteps

With you, and else none

 Soon, he left.
 When I peeled back the paper of the wrapped present, I discovered two tickets to the latest musical production of “Wicked”, back for another rerun.
 He remembered how much I loved the show.
 It was nine. My time was almost up.
 And now, I had one final task to do.
 I picked up my phone. “Calvin,” I spoke. “Change my will.”
 Calvin hesitated on the other end. But I know I had already made my choice.
 “All of my assets go to Mr Lhu Wen Kai.”
 He took some time to get it done. But at least, he did.
 “Thank you.”

 In my final minutes, I crept onto my bed, and grabbed my bolster. I hugged it to sleep, cuddling it like it was the dearest thing to me.
 Amidst the grim situation of my demise, I could feel.
 I was happy.