[Winter Contest Entry 2012] Nothing to Give

Nothing to Give [edited with Xenon's notes]

One night, my doctor came into my room with a grave look on his face. He stood around for a little while, and I could see it was hard for him to make eye contact. I knew what was coming, and he knew what he had to do, but I guess it wasn't something that even the most veteran doctors could say with a calm face. I remember him finally talking to me, and me, still lying down, turned away and looking out the window that showcased beautiful scenery of white snow falling on top of a vast amount of buildings and painting the streets a solid white. I remember seeing the full moon and the countless stars being engulfed in an endless black expanse. The black and white contrast of the snow and night sky was so breathtaking; I remember that I had to gasp for air several times. I remember the glass suddenly blending the colors of black and white to the point where I could no longer see outside. I remember snow somehow getting into the room and melting on my face as streams of water ran down my cheeks. Yes, I remember the doctor leaving quietly, I remember that it was the 1st of December, and I remember it was a long night.

I woke up the next morning with my face buried in my pillow. I wanted to cry. I wanted to cry knowing that there was nothing I could do. I wanted to cry knowing that I'd never get married, or ever get a degree, or ever get back on Fakku. I wanted to cry knowing that I would never travel the world, or live to see life outside of Earth. I had dreams, lots of them, and now none of it even mattered.

The next day, a boy literally stumbled into my room. He looked just my age, and wore the same white, flimsy hospital clothing that I wore. It was possibly the most random thing I'd ever seen, and I was at a loss of what to say. He came in looking almost as if he could barely walk. His eyes were cast downward, he was holding onto the doorknob with one of his hands as support, and he seemed like he was out of breath. I think anyone else would have been deathly frightened at such a sight, but for some reason I just sat up and stared at the boy.

As the boy slowly lifted his head and his eyes met mines, he said weakly, "H-Hey."

Before the boy could say another word I could see his body going limp, his hand losing grip on the doorknob, and his eyes were narrowing as he cast his head down slowly. Reactively, I quickly got out from the bed and tried to rush over to him, but before I could reach him, he dropped to the floor and lay like a lifeless corpse. When I got to him, I tried to lift him, but realizing that I was too weak to do so, I stooped next to him instead. His face was extremely pale, and though I couldn't lift him up, even I could tell he was quite underweight. Now that I was closer, I could see that the area surrounding his eyes were dark in color.

I cradled his head in my arms and tried to support him so that he would sit upright. "Hey, a-are you alright? What's wrong?" I tried to call out to him several times.

I could see him struggling, but nonetheless, he opened his eyes ever so slightly. His eyes and mines locked in a gaze for a moment and his gave me a weak smile before he said, "Yes… I'm fine." Then, his eyes shut and his head drooped over slightly in my arms. My eyes widened; I wasn't completely sure what had just happened, but for some reason I didn't cry for help immediately. I could hear the soft sound of his breathing and I could see his clothes shift as he exhaled and inhaled. I should have called a nurse or doctor or yelled for help immediately, but for some reason I just simply stayed sitting on the cold, glossy tile floor. I couldn't help but stare at how peacefully the boy looked. More importantly, I wondered how he could give such a gentle smile in this kind of place.

Eventually I called a nurse and the boy was carried off. Surprisingly there wasn't much fuss even though a patient had collapsed outside of his own room. The nurse came back after a while and reassured me that everything was fine and to go back and rest. However, there was no way I could simply 'go back and rest.' I waited a bit after the nurse left and I began my search down the halls. For some reason, the doctors and nurses didn't seem to mind the occasional patient walking about. In fact, patients were given freedom to roam about this floor and if we got permission, we could generally step outside as well. My journey down the halls wasn't nearly as long as I'd expected; in fact, 'Peter's' room as indicated on the name plate on the door was actually next to mines. The door wasn't locked and I casually entered closing the door behind me.

The room was the spitting image of my own: the same white walls, the same cabinets and drawers, the same awful beige curtains, except there was a wheelchair at the corner of the room. I almost felt like a crazed stalker, but then I realized I didn't really care. I was baffled and intrigued and I wanted to know why he came into my room. I pulled a stool over to the side of his bed and watched over him. It wasn't long before the boy tossed and turned a bit before opening his eyes, squinting at the light of the room.

Then, he turned his head facing me, and unsurprisingly he sounded both scared and confused as he said, "Wh-Wha- who are you?!"

A bit surprised at his volume, I responded, "It's, uh, Vy… from the other room," then changing my tone to sound irritated I continued on, "you know, from the room you kind of busted into?"

"Ah, hey there!" The boy was completely unfazed, and radically changed from frightened to warm and welcoming.

Carried away by his warm welcome I responded, "H-hey there..."

"My name's Peter, it's good to meet you Vy," he sounded incredibly polite and he followed up with the biggest, most sincere smile I'd ever seen.

After that, we continued to conversate with Peter leading most of the conversation. I'd come to demand answers to some questions, but I was completely swept away by his kind, warm personality. For the first time in a long time, I found myself enjoying talking to someone. We talked for what was apparently hours, but what felt like minutes. I figured out that he'd overheard some doctors talking about a girl who didn’t have much time left, and he just wanted to meet her. He too was told that he didn’t have much time left; similarly, he was told he probably had until the end of the year. He simply wanted to talk to someone who had the same problem as him. It was an incredibly naïve and innocent idea, but I couldn't exactly hate him for it. We talked about our families, our illnesses, and some of the things we did in the past. I learned that his illness made his muscles deteriorate, so his body was very weak and usually he had to use a wheelchair to get around. I also learned he was 21, only a year younger than me.

Soon enough, a nurse entered into the room, and while surprised at two patients being in the room, she expressed that she was glad that we were getting along with one another. The nurse propped up the wheelchair and helped Peter get on. For some reason, I felt like seeing Peter in a wheelchair was a sad sight, as if he deserved more. Then, then nurse gave me a nudge and a wink and offered me to push Peter around. I immediately declined and felt a rush of childish embarrassment. However, as we finished eating at the small cafeteria, I saw that the nurse was nowhere to be found, so I ended up pushing Peter back to his room with my face flushing a rose red and with Peter's face carrying a bright smile and the occasional hearty laugh.

The rest of the day, we spent inside Peter's room talking. Eventually, I saw from his window that it was getting dark outside, so I decided that it was about time that I'd left.

I got up and bade Peter a good night, but Peter called out to me as I was walking towards the door, "Hey… can we talk tomorrow as well?"

I turned around at a loss of words to say at first. "How about we make it a promise?" I couldn't help but let out a small laugh after saying something childish.

His face lit up and he wore a large smile as he blissfully responded, "Alright, it's a promise!"

The following day I went over to his room and he greeted me with the same gentle smile and warm welcome. It was just so refreshing how easily I could talk to him. It wasn't like talking to my parents, or my old friends, or doctors. When I was with Peter, I just felt completely relaxed. I ended up coming to his room day after day to talk to him, and share our meals. The nurse completely left pushing Peter's wheelchair around to me as she only popped in to tell us that lunch or dinner was ready, but it's not like I really minded anymore. Every so often we would even ask to leave the floor and go outside. We were both quite fond of the hospital's garden. Each and every day, I found myself happier than the last. I laughed at Peter's terrible jokes and I made fun of him when he told me embarrassing stories of himself. I didn't know when it happened but I'd fallen in love. He just was so dorky and innocent and warm and kind and gentle and- and I felt a tear run down my face every day because of it.

Every day, I was so happy to be with him, but at the same time, every night, that small walk from his room to my own felt so very long. I knew that we couldn't be with each other for long, and the fact had always haunted me. I would envision his smile, his weak laugh, and I just couldn't hold back my feelings. Every day, we promised to see each other the next day, but at the same time, I knew at one point it would be impossible.

On the night of Christmas Eve, before I left his room, I promised that I would see him tomorrow. I awaited his return promise, but for the first time, he didn’t answer immediately. He looked at me and gave me the same gentle smile he always did.

"Promise me…" He closed his eyes and spoke slowly, "promise me you'll keep smiling, alright?"

"I-I promised okay? J-Just please. Peter…" My voice was cracked and shaking. I saw that he wasn't breathing, and I began to cry and wail. I knew it was coming but it was just so cruel. I grabbed his hand with a tears running down my face and my mind scattered. I prayed. I knew I had nothing to give, I never did, but Peter gave me life.

"Please…" I whispered desperately.

Then, I knocked out. Perhaps from exhaustion or shock. But, I woke up to the sound of a familiar voice.

"Hey… Morning Vy!"

Nothing to Give

One night, my doctor came into my room with a grave look on his face. He stood around for a little while, and I could see it was hard for him to make eye contact. I knew what was coming, and he knew what he had to do, but I guess it wasn't something that even the most veteran doctors could say with a calm face. I remember him finally talking to me, and me, still lying down, turned away and looking out the window that showcased a(It would be correct if it was 'a beautiful scene,' but 'beautiful scenery' is plural and thus doesn't require the specified 'a' beforehand) beautiful scenery of white snow falling on top of a vast amount of buildings and painting the streets a solid white. I remember seeing the full moon and the countless stars being engulfed in an endless black expanse. The black and white contrast of the snow and night sky was so breathtaking; I remember that I had to gasp for air several times. I remember the glass suddenly blending the colors of black and white to the point where I could no longer see outside. I remember snow somehow getting into the room and melting on my face as streams of water ran down my cheeks. Yes, I remember the doctor leaving quietly, I remember that it was the 1st of December, and I remember it was a long night.

I woke up the next morning with my face buried in my pillow. I wanted to cry. I wanted to cry knowing that there was nothing I could do. I wanted to cry knowing that I'd never get married, or ever get a degree, or ever get back on Fakku. I wanted to cry knowing that I would never travel the world, or live to see life outside of Earth. I had dreams, lots of them, and now none of it even mattered.

The next day, a boy literally stumbled into my room. He looked just my age, and wore the same white, flimsy hospital clothing that I wore. It was possibly the most random thing I'd ever seen, and I was at a loss of what to say. He came in looking almost as if he could barely walk. His eyes were cast downward, he was holding onto the doorknob with one of his hands as support, and he seemed like he was out of breath. I think anyone else would have been deathly frightened at such a sight, but for some reason I just sat up and stared at the boy.

As the boy slowly lifted his head and his eyes met mines, he said weakly, "H-Hey."

Before the boy could say another word, I could see his body going limp, his hand losing grip on the doorknob, and his eyes were narrowing as he cast his head down slowly. Reactively, I quickly got out from the bed and tried to rush over to him, but before I could reach him, he dropped to the floor and lay like a lifeless corpse. When I got to him, I tried to lift him, but realizing that I was too weak to do so, I stooped next to him instead. His face was extremely pale, and though I couldn't lift him up, even I could tell he was quite underweight. Now that I was closer, I could see that his the area surround his eyes wasere dark in color.

I cradled his head in my arms and tried to support him so that he would sit upright. "Hey, a-are you alright? What's wrong??(Never use more than one of any punctuation mark, quotation and ellipsis being the exceptions)" I tried to call out to him several times.

I could see him struggling, but nonetheless, he opened his eyes ever so slightly. His eyes and mines locked in a gaze for a moment and his gave me a weak smile before he said, "Yes… I'm fine." Then, his eyes shut and his head drooped over slightly in my arms. My eyes widened; I wasn't completely sure what had just happened, but for some reason I didn't cry for help immediately. I could hear the soft sound of his breathing and I could see his clothses shift as he exhalesd and inhaled. I should have called a nurse or doctor, or yelled for help immediately, but for some reason, I just simply stayed sitting on the cold, glossy tile floor. I couldn't help but stare at how peacefully the boy looked. But,(Avoid using the word †˜But’ to begin your sentences) mMore importantly, I wondered how he could give such a gentle smile in this kind of place.

Eventually I called a nurse and the boy was carried off. Surprisingly there wasn't much fuss even though a patient had collapsed outside of his own room. The nurse came back after a while and reassured me that everything was fine and to go back and rest. ButHowever,(Again, avoid beginning your sentences with the word †˜But’) there was no way I could simply 'go back and rest.' I waited a bit after the nurse left and I began my search down the halls. For some reason, the doctors and nurses didn't seem to mind the occasional patient walking about. In fact, patients were given freedom to roam about this floor and if we got permission, we could generally step outside as well. My journey down the halls wasn't as nearly as long as I'd expected; in fact, 'Peter's' room as indicated on the name plate on the door was actually next to mines. The door wasn't locked and I casually entered closing the door behind me.

The room was the spitting image of my own: the same white walls, the same cabinets and drawers, the same awful beige curtains, except there was a wheelchair at the corner of the room. I almost felt like a crazed stalker, but then I realized I didn't really care. I was baffled and intrigued and I wanted to know why he came into my room. I pulled a stool over to the side of his bed and watched over him. It wasn't long before the boy tossed and turned a bit before opening his eyes, squinting at the light of the room.

Then, he turned his head facing me, and unsurprisingly he sounded both scared and confused as he said, "Wh-Wha- who are you?!"

A bit surprised at his volume, I responded, "It's, uh, Vy… from the other room," then changing my tone to sound irritated, I continued on, "you know, from the room you kind of busted into?"

"Ah, hey there!" The boy was completely unfazed, and radically changed from frightened to warm and welcoming.

Carried away by his warm welcome I responded, "H-hey there..."

"My name's Peter, it's good to meet you Vy," he sounded incredibly polite and he followed up with the biggest, most sincere smile I'd ever seen.

After that, we continued to conversate with Peter leading most of the conversation. I'd come to demand answers to some questions, but I was completely swept away by his kind, warm personality. For the first time in a long time, I found myself enjoying talking to someone. We talked for what was apparently hours, but what felt like minutes. I figured out that he'd overheard some doctors talking about a girl who didn’t have much time left, and he just wanted to meet her. He too was told that he didn’t have much time left; similarly, he was told he probably had until the end of the year. He simply wanted to talk to someone who had the same problem as him. It was an incredibly naïve and innocent idea, but I couldn't exactly hate him for it. We talked about our families, our illnesses, and some of the things we did in the past. I learned that his illness made his muscles deteriorate, so his body was very weak and usually he had to use a wheelchair to get around. I also learned he was 21, only a year younger than me.

Soon enough, a nurse entered into the room, and while surprised at two patients being in the room, she expressed that she was glad that we were getting along with one another. The nurse propped up the wheelchair and helped Peter get on. For some reason, I felt like seeing Peter in a wheelchair was a sad sight, as if he deserved more. Then, then nurse gave me a nudge and a wink and offered me to push Peter around. I immediately declined and felt a rush of childish embarrassment. ButHowever,(Again) as we finished eating at the small cafeteria, I saw that the nurse was nowhere to be found, so I ended up pushing Peter back to his room with my face flushing a rose red and with Peter's face carrying a bright smile and the occasional hearty laugh.

The rest of the day, we spent inside Peter's room talking. Eventually, I saw from his window that it was getting dark outside, so I decided that it was about time that I'd left.

I got up and bade Peter a good night, but Peter called out to me as I was walking towards the door, "Hey… can we talk tomorrow as well?"

I turned around at a loss of words to say at first. "How about we make it a promise?" I couldn't help but let out a small laugh after saying something childish.

His face lit up and he wore a large smile as he blissfully responded, "Alright, it's a promise!"

The following day I went over to his room and he greeted me with the same gentle smile and warm welcome. It was just so refreshing how easily I could talk to him. It wasn't like talking to my parents, or my old friends, or doctors,. wWhen I was with Peter, I just felt completely relaxed. I ended up coming to his room day after day to talk to him, and share our meals. The nurse completely left pushing Peter's wheelchair around to me as she only popped in to tell us that lunch or dinner was ready, but it's not like I really minded anymore. Every so often we would even ask to leave the floor and go outside. We were both quite fond of the hospital's garden. Each and every day, I found myself happier than the last. I laughed at Peter's terrible jokes and I made fun of him when he told me embarrassing stories of himself. I didn't know when it happened, but I'd fallen in love. He just was so dorky and innocent and warm and kind and gentle and- and I felt a tear run down my face every day because of it.

Every day, I was so happy to be with him, but at the same time, every night, that small walk from his room to my own felt so very long. I knew that we couldn't be with each other for long, and the fact had always haunted me. I would envision his smile, his weak laugh, and I just couldn't hold back my feelings. Every day, we promised to see each other the next day, but at the same time, I knew at one point it would be impossible.

On the night of Christmas Eve, before I left his room, I promised that I would see him tomorrow. I awaited his return promise, but for the first time, he didn’t answer immediately. He looked at me and gave me the same gentle smile he always did.

"Promise me…" He closed his eyes and spoke slowly, "Ppromise me you'll keep smiling, alright?"

"I-I promised, okay? J-Just please. Peter…" My voice was cracked and shaking. I saw that he wasn't breathing, and I began to cry and wail. I knew it was coming but it was just so cruel. I grabbed his hand with a tears running down my face and my mind scattered. I prayed. I knew I had nothing to give, I never did, but Peter gave me life.

"Please…" I whispered desperately.

Then, I knocked out., Pperhaps from exhaustion or shock. ButHowever,(Again) I woke up to the sound of a familiar voice.

"Hey… Morning, Vy!"