It is the 11th of March in 2025, and you are just stabbed by a distinguished old man on the street.
You stumble, falling on the concrete floor. There are screams as the pain from your side intensifies and your vision starts blurring. You think to yourself, “This is it,” and your world turns dark.
You were never fond of dying, since your cycling accident when you were eight. You would take superstitions seriously, always carrying a necklace here and a dead rabbit’s foot there. When you crossed the street, you would look to the right, then to the left, walk a few steps, then to the right, then to the left… until you reach the other side where others would gaze at you with confusion and amusement.
However, the gods must have pity on you, since you jolt awake on the hospital bed. All you can see is the white ceiling and the lines running through your body. You hear shuffling to your right, so you turn to look at the person there.
It is the distinguished gentleman from earlier, who stabbed you and ran away. He bows to you, and takes out a device that feels familiar to you. You recognise it as an invention by your father, who was a renowned scientist and genius engineer.
You take and open the device, which is a box with extra, unnecessary locks and a fingerprint recognition system. Your hands shook as you see the contents within it. There is a paper within it, and the gentleman helps you by unfolding it. It reads as follows, “You will, can and must not die. So don’t.”
You try, and it works. With the thought of not dying, your body starts healing itself. In fact, at a speed that could be stated as unnatural and superhuman. And you finally understand why your father wrote that message.
When you were eight, you nearly died once. Your father loved you dearly and could not let you go. He took your fading body from the crashed, broken bicycle, and took it to his laboratory. With quick calculations and desperate changes, he injected a liquid into your left arm, which had the name X01. Fortunately, it worked, and your wounds healed quickly and perfectly. However, it could not heal the trauma the accident gave you.
Since then, you avoided bicycles. You were always extra cautious and wary of the road. Even when he took you to therapists and counsellors, your trauma remained unchanged. You never let the pain go, always clinging onto it as some sort of defence mechanism.
But now you see clearly. Tears form in your eyes and slide down your face like a river. You vaguely remember the old gentleman and turn to face him, hoping to thank him. But he is not there. You note that his face resembles your father, who speaks less now and often stares out the window.
You climbed out of the bed, as the birds sang and flowers rose. The beeping goes faster, then grows silent and limp.