Somewhere in New York state, in a sterile hospital, the halls gleamed under harsh fluorescent lights. The faint, acrid scent of bleach lingered in the air, a constant reminder of the place's clinical purpose. In one of the rooms, Mike sat in a stiff plastic chair beside a hospital bed, his hands trembling as he clung tightly to his sister Sara’s frail hand.

  Sara lay motionless, her once-vibrant presence reduced to a shadow of its former self. The machines around her hummed softly, their screens blinking with vital signs. The steady rhythm of the heart monitor filled the room—a reminder that she was still holding on, though just barely. Her face was pale, her cheekbones sharp against her hollowed skin. Dark circles clung beneath her sunken eyes, and she wore a cap to cover the baldness caused by the relentless rounds of chemotherapy.

  Mike’s face was a portrait of grief. Tears streamed down his cheeks as he sobbed openly, his shoulders shaking under the weight of his sorrow. His grip on Sara’s hand tightened, as though holding on to her physically could somehow keep her tethered to the world.

  “It’s not fair,” Mike choked out, his voice cracking. “Why? Why you?” His words hung heavy in the air, thick with anguish. “You’re all I’ve got left. You’re the only family I have. Cancer already took Mom and Dad... why’s it gotta take you too?”

  His words broke into a whisper as he buried his face in her hand, the small, fragile hand that had once been so full of life. Memories of their childhood flooded his mind—her laughter, the way she’d tease him, how they’d lean on each other after their parents’ deaths. She’d always been the stronger one, the one who kept him going.

  Now, here she was, fighting a battle she never asked for, and all Mike could do was sit helplessly by her side. His tears fell onto her hand, the droplets pooling briefly before soaking into the thin hospital sheet.

  Sara weakly squeezed Mike's hand, her frail fingers trembling with effort. Her pale lips curved into a faint smile, though it was clear it took everything in her to muster it. The pain etched on her face was undeniable, but she fought to mask it, if only to ease her brother’s anguish.

  “Hey now, don’t be a crybaby,” she said, her voice raspy and uneven, barely above a whisper. She tried to inject a note of playful teasing into her tone, the way she always had when they were kids, but it came out thin and strained. “You’ll be alright. You’ve got this.”

  Mike’s throat tightened, his breath hitching as he struggled to contain the storm of emotions raging inside him. But he couldn’t respond—not with words, not even with a nod. His tears kept flowing, hot and unstoppable, carving trails down his cheeks.

  He didn’t want to be “alright.” The idea was unbearable. How could he be alright when the people he loved most in the world were slipping away from him? His chest heaved with grief, his head bowed as he clung to her fragile hand.

  The truth was inescapable, hanging over them both like a dark, suffocating cloud. Sara’s cancer was terminal. Every doctor, every test, every soul-crushing prognosis had told them the same thing: there was no miracle cure, no last-minute reprieve. She was going to die.

  And it wasn’t just “soon.” It was imminent.

  Mike’s heart shattered anew with every labored breath she took. All he wanted was for her to get better, to defy the odds and live the life she deserved. But the universe, cruel and unyielding, had decided otherwise.

  Yet here she was, trying to comfort him, the very person who should have been the one doing the comforting. Even now, even as her life ebbed away, she was thinking of him, of how to shield him from the unbearable reality they both faced.

  A case of literary theft: this tale is not rightfully on Amazon; if you see it, report the violation.

  And that only made it hurt more.

  “Remember what Dad always said before he passed,” Sara murmured, her voice fragile but steady with conviction. “You don’t get to choose how you come into this world, and you’re lucky if you get to choose how you leave it. It’s just the way things are. All we can do is live the best we can while we’re here.”

  Mike nodded slowly, his head heavy with the weight of her words. He knew she was trying to give him something to hold onto, some fragment of wisdom to ease the unbearable reality they both faced. She was doing what she always did—putting him first, even as her own life slipped away.

  But the mention of their father only cut deeper into his already raw grief. The image of their dad in the exact same position flashed through Mike’s mind—lying pale and gaunt in a hospital bed, surrounded by the same sterile white walls and the beeping of machines. The memory was like a ghost, stirring up the pain he thought he’d buried long ago.

  It felt cruel, the way history was repeating itself. First their dad, then their mom, and now Sara—the people he loved most in the world, taken from him one by one. It felt as if the universe had singled him out to endure this endless cycle of loss.

  Mike squeezed her hand tighter, the pressure of his grip conveying everything he couldn’t say. He didn’t have the strength to respond, not without breaking completely. He swallowed hard, his throat tight, and tried to focus on Sara’s face—her eyes, still bright despite her frailty; her smile, soft but full of the same stubborn courage she’d always had.

  Mike leaned forward and wrapped his arms around his big sister, pulling her into a tight embrace. Sara, though weak, managed to return the hug, her frail arms encircling him with what little strength she had left.

  “I love you,” Mike whispered, his voice breaking.

  “I love you too,” Sara replied softly, her breath warm against his shoulder.

  As they held onto each other, a strange stillness filled the room. The faint, rhythmic beeping of the heart monitor began to fade, replaced by an unsettling silence. In the corner of the room, the shadows started to shift and expand, inching outward with an unnatural, almost deliberate slowness.

  The darkness crept across the floor, swallowing the sterile white tiles and climbing up the walls. It moved with an eerie inevitability, its edges blurring as it consumed everything in its path.

  And then, the realization struck him again, as it always did in these moments. This wasn’t real. This was all a dream—a cruel, fleeting echo of something. But even as the truth settled over him, heavy and suffocating, he clung to his sister tighter.

  The shadows reached his feet, their cold touch sending a shiver up his spine. He didn’t care. He wouldn’t let go. Not yet. Not while he could still feel her heartbeat, however faint, against his chest.

  As the darkness enveloped them completely, erasing the walls, the bed, and the world around them, Mike closed his eyes. Everything faded to black, but his arms remained around his sister, holding on to the only thing that mattered, even as the dream slipped away.

  ??????????????????

  Kai’s eyes snapped open, his chest rising and falling with shallow, uneven breaths. He sat up abruptly, the remnants of the dream clinging to him like a heavy fog. His cheeks were damp, tears still streaming down his face, carving silent trails that mirrored the sorrow lingering in his heart.

  Raising a trembling hand, he wiped at his face, brushing away the tears as he tried to steady himself. The weight of the dream pressed against his chest, vivid and raw, as though the emotions it stirred refused to let go.

  He glanced toward the small window beside his bed. The faint light of dawn crept over the horizon, the first rays of the sun painting the sky with soft hues of gold and pink. The world was waking, serene and indifferent to the dreams Kai experienced.

  “What a sad dream,” he murmured, his voice barely audible, as if speaking louder might make the sorrow linger longer. His fingers brushed through his disheveled hair, his thoughts racing. The vividness of the dream unsettled him, not because it felt unreal, but because it felt all too real.

  Kai let out a slow breath, leaning back against the wooden frame of his bed. He stared out the window, watching the sunrise, hoping its warmth might burn away the lingering chill in his soul.