In a medium-sized room inside an old hospital, a pale-faced boy lay on a bed beside an open window. Cold winds sneaked inside, making his frail limbs tremble, while the thin blanket barely kept any warmth.
It was obvious from his furrowed brows and glassy eyes that he hated that window, but he had no strength to reach out and close it. Barely able to lift a glass of water—how could he close a window...?
He sighed deeply, as if emptying the last bit of life within him, then muttered weakly:
"Haaah... looks like it's finally the end... Where are those damn nurses?! Let them come and close this cursed window... for God's sake!"
He lifted his eyes to the sky through the open glass, watching seagulls flying freely over the gray horizon.
"…I used to love those birds."
Then in a barely audible voice, he continued:
"Now... I want nothing more than to skin them alive!"
He closed his eyes and lowered his head, as if taking refuge in silence, contemplating himself as if he were contemplating death itself.
Life... you're born into it without choice. That's your first loss.
Then you live—cursed or blessed... or stuck somewhere between...
The blessed achieve their goals and win.
The cursed... fail and lose for the second time.
Then... comes death. It doesn't stop, it offers no hope, it shows no mercy!
He opened his eyes and stared at the opposite wall, lost, as if reading his own obituary in the silence.
What a mockery...
To lose twice for sure:
Once because you were born,
And once because you will die...!
Even if you're born with a golden spoon in your mouth...
What use is gold to the dead?!
His eyes shifted back to the sky, a long, hardened gaze.
"Since my birth... I've been losing. I truly am... cursed!"
Inside him, a fire blazed. His eyes glowed with hatred—not just for the world, but for existence itself.
I wish I could burn this entire universe to ashes... before I'm ripped from this life!
In a sudden flash, his hand moved with a strength that didn't match his fragile body. The glass of water smashed against the wall, shards breaking silently... as if announcing the end!
Suddenly, the door handle turned slowly, then the door opened...
A short, stout man entered, with traces of sixty years in his features and the marks of a time when he was stronger.
He approached Alfonso with heavy steps, his face carrying no sign of joy.
"Father?" Alfonso said, staring at him with half-closed eyes, his brows knitted. "Your face is pale... almost as pale as mine. Let me guess, you came to tell me the news?!" He paused, then added in a dead voice: "Don't bother... I already know where this conversation is headed."
Carlos didn't answer immediately. He stood there for a moment, as if time stopped for him, then said in a broken voice:
"Alfonso... my son... I don't know what to do... For the first time in my life... I am lost!"
He stepped closer slowly, then bent beside his son's bed. Tears began to well in his eyes—Carlos was never a man of feelings, on the contrary, he was cold in his words and harsh in his manner. But now, he seemed like someone who had lost everything inside...
Alfonso turned his head aside and said coldly:
"Enough drama... The end was expected even by fools! I don't need a long speech to tell me there's no hope... Or that treatment is unavailable... or expensive... or useless in this rotten country!"
He laughed bitterly:
"You know? It doesn't matter... Don't bother justifying the obvious."
Then he slowly turned and looked into his father's face, studying it. He remembered—childhood days, when he was loved, when he sought his approval... Then he started hating him, fiercely!
His father was cruel, beating him when he struggled to pronounce some letters, calling him a "brat," seeing weakness as a shame to be crushed...!
Over time, hate turned to indifference... Then came cancer, wiping out what little feeling remained.
Alfonso thought silently:
Family?! Don't make me laugh... They're just pawns... I only need them because I'm weak.
...I tried to become a monster, just as he wanted me to... And when I did, when life made me what I am... He didn't pride himself on me, he feared me! He denied me, as if he wasn't the root cause of this transformation...!
Pathetic... nothing but a loser!
As if the sky responded to his thoughts...
Light blood started dripping from Alfonso's nose, then quickly turned into a stream flowing from his mouth as if life was washing out of him!
His eyes widened—not with fear, but... rage!
Damn it!? Damn it!!
Goddamn it! I wanted to do something great at least once before being ripped from this life...! But my luck, as usual, drags me straight to the bottom...!
He was not afraid of death... but furious at its timing. Most people don't choose when or how to die... But some... die before their story even begins!
Carlos ran quickly, his voice choking as he screamed for help... But Alfonso saw nothing but the ceiling.
A typical tragedy... dying alone... Fine... I don't hate that.
He closed his eyes, surrendering. He didn't believe in heaven, nor fear hell... All he knew... was that another stage of torment awaited him in hell—if it existed...!
Then...
Silence.
And the machines' sound turned into one long, cold, piercing beep...