The death ward always had a stench of mucus, pee and shit, barely covered by the pungent smell of antiseptics, but only that day I knew. That day, I was cursed.
As I stood in the limbo with concrete white walls, I heard the body, its eyelids too heavy to stay lifted, pronounce – or rather whisper with its last breath – the cursed verdict, "To be born from nothing, then to end in nothingness... how pointless! Why even attempt this wretched existence?"
The soul escaped with the prolonged sigh and was at last freed from its flesh-clad burden, so was the Curse. Like a parasite hungry for a new host, it crept under my skin, mixed with my blood, and flowed into my heart.
That night, I was feverish. I could feel the parasite crawl in my veins, drinking my blood, and devouring in modest, painful bites my flesh. I woke too early, my hair drenched in cold sweat. I sneaked out of the house and ran.
The sun had yet to rise, and the cold air cut into my bare skin. I could feel the salted beads on my cheeks turning into ice. They bit on my skin and blinded my sight. I kept running.
I had never enjoyed morning runs, but, that day, I couldn't stop running. I thought I was grieving, but how could one feel grief toward a stranger?
At the thought of that woman, her words seeped into my mind, tempting the parasite in my heart. I could feel its bites become greedier. It was mocking me. I knew the truth too well but still did not dare admit it.
I ran faster but had to stop at the red light of a crosswalk. In front of me, I could see the road climbing up the hill to the forest that surrounded the suburbs. I could follow that road into the forest, then across it. I could travel far away and continue running for a long time... but to what end?
The parasite would still be there, feasting on my heart, every bite more painful and unbearable than the previous one. I would still not be able to suppress the Fear, this fear of the void the woman mocked with her last breath.
Life is a disease, an incurable disease, a death sentence. Life is a cage so secure that none can escape from, and we are the rabbits inside, eating, shitting everything out and repeating this mundane cycle again and again until the butcher called "Death" picks us up and slits our throats. To what end does this existence lead to if not a feast for Death?
I could feel more warm tears dripping down my cheeks. I closed my eyes. I took a deep breath. The cold air bit at my lungs. I re-opened my eyes.
Far away, the sky was crimson. Some morning birds started singing their daily chorus. I had heard more elaborate music, but this song was hauntingly beautiful and soothing.
I remembered having learned that most birds do not live past ten years. Yet, they sing with passion from the first day they could imitate their parents to the last day they still have their voices. They may be bound by the cage of Life, but anyone who heard their songs would not doubt their freedom.
Before the eternal void, Life is not a void. It's a bucket that I can fill with all the ardor I can nurture. Before the void, I shall love without fear. I shall not despise the unpleasant moments and love without shame the better ones. Perhaps, this is the closest to living I can get.
I almost forgot about the parasite, because my heart was not hurting anymore. Instead, I felt as if I was filled with exuberance.
The light had turned green for the nth time, but it did not matter. That day, I would not cross this road. I turned around and walked home.