Everlasting dream (18+)

 

Earth, October 10th, 2023. 2:34 AM. A silent hospital room shrouded in darkness.

 

In a dimly lit room, a boy lay motionless, his bony, weakened body bathed in the faint glow of monitors and machines. The night was still and silent, save for the gentle, rhythmic hum of medical devices monitoring his waning life. It was a moment he had long anticipated — a day he leaves this world, a day he had grown to accept, even welcome.

Gathering the little strength in his weakened body, he began to speak, his voice trembling like a fragile leaf in the wind. Even though no one was listening, he felt the need to share his story.

"I am Alex Turner," he whispered hoarsely, barely audible. "Born on September 15th, 2004, I spent my entire life in a small, unremarkable place known as Wellspring — just another countryside town, nothing more, nothing less."

Memories flooded his mind, revealing long-forgotten scenes—the sunlit streets of Wellspring, the fields of golden wheat stretching beyond the horizon, and the endless blue sky that covered it all. His house on the hill outside of town also came to mind—dusty wooden floors creaking underfoot, a worn-out couch and armchair beside an ancient black-and-white TV, and his tiny bedroom tucked away upstairs.

Alex took a shallow breath and continued, voice gaining a bit more strength. "It was always just Grandpa and me. He raised me alone while... Mom?" His voice cracked at the mention of her. "Well... I have memories of her occasional visits, perhaps once or twice a year, lasting only a few hours each. But the older I got, we got less of those. Eventually, she stopped coming altogether and sent money and cards instead."

Alex paused, remembering how he was standing on a porch, watching his mother's car disappear down the road. "I suppose she was just too young when she had me. Maybe it is why she was like that," he said sadly. "Eventually, she started a new family that I never got to be a part of. So, yeah... it was just the old man and me," he cleared his throat. "As for my father, Grandpa never spoke of him. I don't know why. He just... got all quiet whenever I asked."

Alex took a mug of water and drank a little to relieve his dry throat. "Grandpa was a mailman, always riding this squeaky old bicycle across town to deliver mail, rain or shine, even though he was old enough to remember dinosaurs," Alex said, a faint smile touching his lips despite the pain in his chest. He could still see him clearly—John Turner, his face full of wrinkles and weathered by time, but always warm and smiling. "He'd always say, 'The mail won't deliver itself, will it, kiddo?'" Alex whispered, trying to mimic his grandfather's voice, putting away the mug.

He paused for a second, looking at the ceiling; his brown eyes had a strange glint, almost as if they were looking at something far away in the past. "We didn't have much - no internet or fancy phones, TV barely worked... and yet I think we were happy," he said, smiling weakly.

Alex paused, his gaze falling to the IV drip feeding into his arm. He reached out a trembling hand, tracing the tube as he whispered, "As a child, I was sickly and weak, which made it hard for me to make friends. I never had one, to be honest. I was clumsy and awkward, always saying the wrong thing and making a fool of myself. Not much has changed since then," Alex admitted, shaking his head. "I just spent most of my time at home, drawing and listening to music alone."

As the clock ticked on, Alex found himself thinking about all those sketches in tattered notebooks, all those times he sat in front of a cassette player and listened to his favorite songs. "On my 5th birthday," he continued, "I got a piano as a gift. It was so old and sounded terrible, but it's been my favorite thing ever since I got it."

"Grandpa used to tell me about how my grandmother, who passed away before I was born, used to play the piano," Alex smiled as he remembered how happy Grandpa was whenever he played that old, rusty piano. "Music was my everything. I would spend days and nights practicing, imagining myself on stage in front of a crowd. Not that I could have handled it with my stage fright," he added with a weak laugh, his thin body shaking. "But it was a nice dream."

"I was always quiet and, I guess, a shy kid, and the piano and the drawing pencils were the only things that brought joy to my otherwise boring life. I rarely talked to anyone, or even left the house for that matter, except for school. I just spent all my time in front of the piano," he admitted. "My little fingers always struggled to hit the right keys back then."

The room fell silent for several minutes as he collected his thoughts.

"I still remember..." he murmured, his voice barely audible. "3rd of December, 2009. I practiced my piano in my room, just like any other day... but this day was different. It was the day I wrote my first piece of music."

As he spoke, Alex's fingers began to move in the air as if playing an invisible piano. "It was a simple composition," he continued, "Most people would say it was even boring. And I agree... But I was five at the time. It was what probably made the difference."

"When I played the full composition for the first time, I looked to the left and saw a girl, no older than sixteen, sitting on my bed, watching me play and moving her head in sync with the music," Alex paused, his voice soft. "The strange thing was, I was alone in the room."

"She had red hair, a face full of freckles, and the bluest eyes I'd ever seen. She wore a silky white, almost transparent dress, waving unnaturally as if it was windy. Even at five years old, her beauty took my breath away," Alex said, his gaze sweeping the room but only finding the steady blink of medical machines. He sighed and looked up, whispering, "I wish to see you again... just one more time. Please."

Alex fell silent, waiting for a response he knew would never come. After a moment, he murmured, "I guess not..." His voice was heavy with sadness, and a single tear traced a path down his pale, sunken cheek, disappearing into the pillow beneath him.

Alex's voice trembled as he continued. "When I blinked, she was gone, as if she'd never been there. I thought I must have gone crazy," he said, managing a weak, sad smile. "I searched every corner of the room, then the entire house, but of course, there was no one. When I played the composition again, nothing happened," he added. "So I thought I just got tired and imagined things, not giving it any more thought."

The steady hum of the machines filled the room once more as Alex lay there, lost in his memories. "The next time I saw her was a year later," he said, a nostalgic smile playing on his lips. "My new, improved music, and the same beautiful you. She was there again," he paused momentarily, his fingers still tapping an imaginary piano, "listening and moving her head to the rhythm."

"But I blinked too fast," Alex admitted, covering his eyes with one hand. "She disappeared before I could even say a word. I checked my room again, looking for her, but she was nowhere to be found. She was just... gone."

"That day, I played the music non-stop, hoping to see her," Alex said, lowering his hand. "But it didn't work. I even tried composing another piece, a slightly uglier version of the first one, but nothing brought her back. I thought I was going crazy, so I took a break from music to clear my head, thinking maybe I was spending too much time with the piano."

"I focused on my art instead, the other thing I was good at. A few months later, my teacher noticed my sketches and told me they were really good, even though I had made those drawings during her math classes," Alex chuckled. "She signed me up for the art club the next day and even bought me some supplies, like oil paints and brushes."

"With every drawing I made, I felt her presence nearby," Alex spoke softly, "but I never saw her. It was just this feeling of something... I don't know, divine? And it made me think that I wasn't good enough yet. I started to believe that if I improved my skills, the girl from when I was five would reappear. I heard that kids sometimes have imaginary friends. Maybe that's what she was to me... my imaginary friend."

"I did my best," Alex admitted with a sigh. "I poured my soul into my drawings, but she never appeared. Just this feeling of her being around kept lingering... I was desperate to see her again, just for a split second," he said, his voice growing hoarse,

"So, I returned to music and started composing again."

"I kept trying, over and over," Alex murmured, his voice slow and quiet. "Two years of nothing but practice, learning the basics. But it was worth it. After all this time, you finally appeared. Just for a moment, but it was enough," he said, his lips curving into a weak smile.

"You were there, smiling as you listened to my music. It was like a dream come true, five seconds of absolute perfection before my eyes. And then, the same story all over again. I blinked, and she was gone. But at least I knew then that I wasn't crazy. She was real," he said, nodding.

A long silence followed, and Alex let out a deep, pained sigh. "All my thoughts were about her. Even when I slept, she was always in my dreams."

"My old man and teachers," Alex continued, clearing his throat. "Everyone believed I was some music genius and a promising artist. I don't know... I think I was just a stupid boy who had fallen in love with an imaginary girl," he laughed painfully.

"I even believed them for a while. What if I did become good enough to be called a genius? With that thought in mind, I went to the local library and asked the librarian to help me upload my recordings online. My teacher had helped me with those," he added, letting out a sad chuckle. "All I got was 25 views or something."

"Nobody cared. But I did. Because she did," Alex said, smiling weakly. "Just a few seconds of her appearance made me so motivated that I often forgot to eat or sleep. I spent all my time playing piano and many nights painting, doing anything to see her again."

The hospital room fell silent as Alex took a deep, labored breath. "I saw her every year or so despite it becoming twice as hard each time to make her appear. She never spoke a word, just smiled sweetly at me. But that smile... That beautiful smile," he shook his head, "was all I needed to keep going. It wasn't for fame or recognition... it was all just for her."

"I didn't even realize I'd turned ten. Time flew by so quickly," Alex admitted, with a hint of regret in his voice. " I had no friends, no real life outside of school. I don't remember the last time I talked with a girl my age... Wait, did I ever?" he asked, scratching his chin. "Anyway," he continued, "I was that shy, quiet kid who sat at the back of the class, drawing in his notebook. Everyone called me 'earphones' because I always wore them."

"I had to lie to Grandpa about having friends, pretending I was going to the park to meet them," he continued. "But really, I'd sneak off to a nearby field or forest, where I could write notes or sketch in peace. It was stupid of me to lie to him like that... Ugh," Alex groaned, covering his eyes with his hand.

Alex paused for a moment, taking a deep breath as the machines in the room beeped in rhythm with his irregular heartbeat. "Meanwhile," he continued, his voice wavering slightly, "My health kept worsening. It was a slow process, but eventually, it became too noticeable. I'd get tired so easily... my vision would blur, and I couldn't run anymore or eat the same foods as before. Because of that, I had to drop out of school and just stay home."

He fell silent, listening as distant footsteps echoed from the other side of the door before fading away. "The doctors couldn't figure out what was wrong," he whispered, his eyes fixed on the door. "I had many tests and examinations, but the results were always the same. It was like every cell in my body lacked energy and life. They couldn't figure out what was wrong."

"But," Alex said, raising his voice slightly and looking up at the ceiling, "that didn't stop me from doing what I loved most: music and painting. And the best part? I could still see her," he added, his eyes seeming to shine as he said the words. "Grandpa tried homeschooling me, but let's just say we weren't exactly the brightest people around," the boy admitted, smiling.

Alex's smile faded, replaced by a look of sadness. "At fourteen... just weeks after my birthday," he began, his voice heavy with emotion, "Grandpa went to work but never returned home. He had a stroke on the way back," he whispered, swallowing loudly. "The doctors did everything they could, but... Well, you know."

"Honestly, I barely remember the funeral, only how quiet the house was," Alex whispered, his voice breaking as he wiped away a single tear. "But I guess I should've seen it coming. He was old, after all," he admitted, forcing a bitter smile. "You never know when your last day will come, huh?" he said, looking at the machines around him.

"But anyway," Alex continued, shaking his head to compose himself. "Mom showed up with her new family. Her husband had two sons from a previous marriage—my new older stepbrothers," he explained, his voice cold and distant. "And they also had a kid together, a six-year-old brat named Jason, with whom I had to share my room. Weird little dude," Alex mumbled, chuckling. "Likes to eat bugs and stuff. Just ew."

"As for everyone else," he sighed, "I kept my distance, even with Mom. I'd just nod along to their conversations, spoke when spoken to, and threw in the occasional 'Yes, Sir' for my stepfather," he said, rolling his eyes. "And that was about it. Luckily, I didn't stay there for too long. Though, it's hard to call it 'lucky.' You know..." he added, looking around the hospital room.

"A month or so after the funeral, I decided to paint her portrait," Alex said, his voice filled with pride. "Right after I saw her again after I made another piece of music, I measured every little detail of her face with my pen. And then, I started painting. It took me 12 hours just to make a sketch and another two months of tireless work to finish it."

The room seemed to fade away as he spoke. "Oh, then I saw her," he whispered, his voice quivering. "For the first time, she appeared not when I played music but while drawing. I'd only ever felt her presence through my paintings before, but this... this was different. She stood beside me, staring at her reflection in my painting. She remained like this for less than ten seconds, then turned to me with a smile—the brightest she ever had."

"Her reaction made me feel like the luckiest person in the world. I wanted to show it to someone so badly... but I quickly changed my mind. It might have been selfish, but I wanted to be the only one who had seen her beauty. I had spent my entire life stealing glances at her, and I couldn't bear the thought of displaying her like any ordinary painting. No, it's not. So, I hid it away."

"The day after I finished the painting, I just fainted. At the hospital, the doctors found that my condition had worsened significantly; my body was severely malnourished, and my organs were beginning to fail one by one," Alex said, taking a slow, shaky breath.

"Ever since then, I am here," Alex continued, his voice weakening as he spoke to himself. "I should have died dozens of times, but for some reason, I'm still alive. In constant pain, struggling for every breath, an agony that breaks not only your body but the soul," Alex whispered, coughing heavily. His lungs seemed to burn with each breath, and a pained, hollowed expression twisted

his pale face. "Yeah, like this."

"The family was called in here to say goodbye so many times that they got tired of it eventually, and I can't blame them. I am tired as well. I don't know when it will end. I started to ask doctors for mercy and to finish it, but they couldn't," Alex mumbled, wiping the silent tears from his face, his hand trembling. "Don't get me wrong, I want to live. I fought my illness as best as I could and did every risky thing doctors suggested, but nothing helped. But this… I don't think I can take it anymore. I just want it all to end..."

He fell silent for several minutes before speaking again. "This was also the longest period I hadn't seen her, and it was torture," he admitted, closing his eyes. "I was in too much pain and couldn't play music for more than ten minutes, couldn't even paint."

"All I could do was lie in this bed and watch the world go by," Alex mumbled, his voice cracking. My stepbrothers went off to university and only visited me once, on my first birthday here..." His voice trailed off as he glanced around the room, a mixture of sadness and regret in his eyes.

"Mom visits me now once a week, even to this day, and brings Jason at least once a month," the boy continued, his fingers fidgeting with the blanket. "I... wanted to hate her. To be angry at her more than ever before, but... I couldn't. I was just sad seeing her. I couldn't even force myself to fake a smile in her direction."

"But... she kept coming," he whispered, tears escaping his closed eyes. "She would tell me stories, read books, and tuck me in..." his voice broke into sobs, his thin shoulders shaking uncontrollably. "I know she does it out of guilt, not love. She doesn't want me to die angry at her... I-I..." Alex struggled to wipe his eyes as the tears kept coming. "I don't want that either... This little was enough for me to forgive her... I know..."

"The only person that didn't change was the little dude," Alex said a few minutes later, clearing his throat and forcing a chuckle. "Jason is nine now. Or ten?" he asked himself, wiping away the tears. "Doesn't matter. He keeps bugging me to play piano whenever he comes, not understanding how hard it is to move my hands."

"Sometimes, not very often, I have days when the pain is less," Alex continued, despite feeling exhausted. "On those days, I try to record for him something I wrote all those years ago so he could sit quietly for a moment," he admitted, managing a faint smile.

Alex looked out the window to his left. The moon peeked through the clouds, casting a faint light on his exhausted, ill-looking face. It made him think again about whether or not he had made the right decision. "It is a nice night," he mumbled, his eyes fixed on the full moon.

He reminded himself about all the years he had spent in this hospital room, the years that should have been the best of his life, enduring unbearable pain and fatigue, countless sleepless nights, and never-ending agony that tormented him day after day, even at this very moment.

It wasn't a decision that came easily. For the longest time, Alex had held onto the hope that he would somehow beat the odds and overcome his illness. He had clung to the belief that his story wasn't over and that there was still a chance for him. To live a normal life.

But deep down, he knew he was lying to himself. As the months and years went by, the hope slowly faded away, and in the end, only one thing remained — the wish to finally end this nightmare and allow himself to be free.

"Should I try to create one last piece before I go?" Alex said aloud, his voice barely above a whisper. "Maybe you're still listening..." he mumbled as he slowly and carefully got out of bed and walked toward the electronic piano beside the nightstand. Despite being nineteen, his body appeared no older than fifteen, if not younger. Each movement made his bones creak, and his skin scream in agony.

The tubes and wires attached to him stretched taut but allowed him to reach the piano, his mother's gift. It was so much better than the one back at the house.

Sighing, he sat back on the bed, got comfortable, and hesitantly placed his fingers above the keys, unsure where to begin. A few moments later, he pressed record, and slowly, his thin, trembling fingers pressed the keys, filling the room with a soft, calming melody.

As the music played, the room seemed to fade away, replaced by a field of wildflowers bathed in sunlight. His fingers trembled so badly that he could barely press the keys, though it never, even once, affected the music, which sounded pure and perfect. Each note flowed through him and resonated with his soul.

The sun was warm on his skin, and the breeze gently brushed his black, greasy hair. The music carried him somewhere away from the pain and fear, from the endless misery and loneliness.

An hour later, Alex had completed his final composition. It reflected all the sadness and happiness of his life, from the unrequited love for the red-haired girl to the happy moment with his grandpa. Hope blended into loneliness, and pain turned into despair—all of it was written into this piece of music. All his life now is nothing more than three minutes of notes.

As he opened his eyes, he found himself alone. His magnum opus, a work of his entire life, didn't find its audience.

The silence was deafening, the emptiness overwhelming, and the despair suffocating. Tears streamed down his face, and his throat ached from constant sobbing. He sat motionless, staring blankly at the piano, feeling like his heart had been torn from his chest.

Eventually, he removed the memory card from the piano. He placed it on the table beside a letter he had written earlier, adding a quick note about his final composition. "Maybe the doctors or someone else will find it and listen to it someday..." he whispered, his voice barely audible. "Maybe."

The boy stared briefly at the memory card and letter before sinking back into his pillow and closing his eyes. He had nothing left—no more hope, dreams, or desires. All that was left was darkness.

"Goodbye, everyone," he whispered, taking a handful of pills he'd saved up. He swallowed them all at once, washing them with a few sips of water. Now, he waits.

One minute passed, then two. Alex stared at the ceiling, tears soaking into the white pillow beneath him. He had no strength left to move. On the brink of eternal darkness, a familiar figure leaned over just before his eyes shut.

A weak, barely noticeable smile touched his lips as he realized it was her. He couldn't talk, but his smile told her everything he couldn't say. As she brought her now sad face close to Alex's blurry eyes, she kissed him — a "thank you" and "goodbye" in one tender gesture. No words were needed.

As the kiss finally ends, so does Alex's life.

...

 

On a quiet, overcast morning, as the sun's first rays struggled to penetrate the heavy clouds, Alex's lifeless body lay in an empty hospital room. His battle was over, but his legacy lived on in the art and music he had left behind.

Those who knew him grieved his passing that day, while others never even knew that this gentle and pure soul had ever existed. A young man who had so much talent, so much potential, and so much love in his fragile, broken body lost his struggle against an unknown illness.

In the years that followed, Alex's art and music got recognized and touched the hearts of countless people. His work found its way into galleries and concert halls, and his story became an inspiration to aspiring artists and musicians all over the globe. Many will say he was one of the most talented compositors of the 21st century. His main drawing of an unknown girl will be found decades later and become a national treasure.

No one will ever know her identity.

Although he left this world at a young age, Alex's imagination and enthusiasm will continue to resonate through the art pieces and musical compositions he produced, serving as a bitter reminder of a life that ended too soon.