Life and death are extraordinary phenomena—moments when humans become their truest selves. In that fragile space in between, there is no room for ego or pretense. It's just you, raw and unfiltered.
I don't know why, but I've forgotten everything—my face, my name, my family, friends (if I had any), my life situation, and more. Yet strangely, a few insignificant details remain crystal clear.
It was night—my last night at the hospital. After twelve grueling years of medical school and working in the healthcare system, it was finally over.
I'd just had one final fight with my supervisor. A broken clock I'd kept for five years lay shattered, symbolic of the end. I packed up all my things. Graduation was tomorrow. I had plans—travel, games, movies, dates, a life I'd put on hold. But none of that would come to pass. Not after that night.
It had been raining for hours, now reduced to a soft drizzle. The air was damp; the ground wet and slick. Autumn winds blew cold.
Wrapped tightly in my coat, I was walking to the subway—tired but finally free—for the last time, heading home.
Then I saw her.
A little girl in a yellow raincoat, giggling as she splashed through puddles on the other side of the walkway. A roaring engine. A red light flashing. Headlights cutting through the drizzle.
It all happened in a heartbeat.
A scream. Tires skidding. A crash. A heavy thud. Then another screech—and another impact.
I couldn't see the girl clearly—couldn't reach her. But I could hear her crying for her mother, so I began assessing what I could.
She was crying loudly—good sign. That meant she could breathe. Her throat and probably her neck were intact. She had vocal range, so her brain was likely undamaged. And she could sustain her cries—her internal organs were probably okay too. That was all I could do. The rest was up to the paramedics.
Now, time to check on the next patient—me.
Pain. Unrelenting, excruciating pain. My vision was gone, but nothing seemed to be covering or damaging my eyes—brain trauma, most likely. I couldn't hear on one side, and my legs were numb. Inner ear damage? Spinal injury?
My left side screamed in agony, but I couldn't pinpoint where the pain ended or began. I could feel the cold, wet ground beneath me. A warm liquid pooled under my body. Blood—mine. Yeah, I was dying. No doubt about it.
Someone was calling my name, trying to check on me. But how did he know who I was?
I wanted to say, "I'm fine," but my tongue wouldn't move. Not that it would have made a difference.
I knew nothing could be done now. All I had left was my heartbeat—faint, fading, and distant.
Tup-dup.
Tup-dup.
Tup-dup...
With every beat, it grew weaker... until it stopped. Silence.
Darkness fell, swallowing everything—swift yet slow.
---
Tup...
Tup...
Tup...
What is this feeling? Is this my body? Why can't I feel anything?
And this strange thumping... don't tell me that's my heart?! Am I in a coma? Shouldn't I still hear something?
Oh... right. My ears were damaged. But wait—who am I? I can't remember...
It doesn't matter. Once I wake up, I'll figure it out. For now... just sleep.
Tup...
Tup...
Tup...
---
Hm um im un immnuoonm...
What are these weird sounds? Why do they all blur together?
Suddenly, my entire body shook violently.
What's happening?! An earthquake? No way—it's too strong! Is the hospital even still standing?! Someone, help—!
Wait... I can hear?!
No way—I can hear again! My hearing is back! And I can feel my arms and legs. They're... strange, but still there. I'm going to be okay. I must be.
And then... the shaking stopped.
---
Time passed—I don't know how long. Hours? Days? Weeks?
But then—it happened again.
A sudden, jarring shake—this time shorter, but just as disorienting. Then another. And another. It became routine, almost rhythmic. The world would stay calm for a while, then suddenly jolt without warning.
I started noticing a pattern—the longer the calm, the stronger the quake. At some point, I stopped thinking it was an earthquake. It felt more... personal. As if the world was trying to get me out of somewhere. Or maybe someone was.
---
As time passed, my senses sharpened. I began to notice strange new experiences—like the taste of food. It would appear in waves: warm, soft, sometimes spicy... and always oddly comforting, as if it was meant just for me. Odd, considering I couldn't move, but I could still "taste" it somehow.
At first, it was soft and soothing. Then came the spicy food—sharp and intense, burning just enough to make me flinch. I didn't hate it, but it wasn't exactly pleasant either.
Then I realized... I wasn't alone.
Someone else was there. Small, quiet, but always nearby. Sharing my space. Sharing my food.
At first, I didn't like it. It felt like he was taking what was mine—always reaching for the good stuff, especially the mild, easy-to-eat food. The moment the spicy one showed up, he avoided it, almost recoiling. I could feel it—his dislike, his discomfort.
And yet... he kept reaching toward my share.
He wanted the mild food.
I hesitated. Honestly, I didn't want the spicy one either. It burned my mouth, lingered too long, overwhelmed my senses.
But something happened.
The moment I gave up my portion—letting him have the one he wanted—I felt something shift. He calmed down. Like he was finally content.
And I felt... lighter.
Still, that warmth scared me.
I didn't know who he was, but I knew—I cared. Deeply. Too deeply. And it terrified me.
The way I felt protective of someone I couldn't even see... the way I reacted to his needs without thinking. I wasn't used to this.
I tried to ignore it, to push it away. But it kept happening.
He never touched the spicy food. And I kept giving it up for him.
Over time, the taste began to change. What once burned too sharply started to feel... bold. Complex. Almost enjoyable.
I didn't just get used to it—I grew to want it.
I started waiting for it. Hoping he'd leave it for me. And when he did, I'd smile—if I could. Not because I liked the flavor (though I did, eventually), but because it felt like we understood each other.
He didn't say a word. Neither did I. But somehow, through these small exchanges, we found each other.
And in that tiny, shared space, I started loving something I once feared—him. Connected in a way I'd never experienced before. That idea scared me at first—I nearly had a heart attack—but then more food arrived. I numbed myself with it.
Things kept improving—sensation, awareness—but space grew tighter. I was shoved to the side, barely able to stretch out anymore.
Then, two great things happened.
First, I saw light—dim, black and white, but still light.
Second? More warm food.
I didn't understand where it came from or why it felt so nourishing, but I'd never tasted anything like it.
---
Things were going okay—until he left. My bedmate, the one I'd come to accept... he left. And when he did, he wrecked the bed we shared.
I told myself I'd never forgive him for that. But with the bed destroyed, I had no choice. It was my turn to leave, too.
---
In a bright cavern lined with gourds near the entrance, the village's finest obstetrician and midwife gasped.
"Wait!! There's another child! They're twins!"
---