The chilling and repetitive irregular beats of the monitor radiated a cold atmosphere, the tens of

hundreds of fans outside the hospital, trailing in, begging for visitation, the security guards stationed
outside their room insuring nobody had broken through or snuck in, and the headline big and bold,
[REDACTED] of Golden Gate Revival Hospitalized, Critical Condition. It felt familiar and distinct yet so
new and overwhelming.

That feeling of their throat closing in on itself, fears claws ascending macabrely upon that protruding
spine, circling around their fragile ribs and upon their frightening and nightmarishly obtruding clavicle
was all such a sickly, such a deathly feeling. And yet the pride swelling upon their failing heart was the
best part of it all, knowing that even on this death bed, they had won this sick game.

“Their brain was damaged immensely, they’re on life support. It wasn’t just the train, it seems to
be a number of reasons. They overdosed as well.”

No emotions in the doctor’s voice, like it was just routine. Akin to those tantalizingly repetitive beats of
their heart. Repetitive, routine, monotonous beats on a screen.

“Their entire body was already incredibly weak. Their muscles have been deteriorating and their body
has been eating away at itself for some time. Their bones are decaying and there’s truly nothing we can
do now. It’s up to fate at this point.”

This father, doing best to remain calm pleaded to the doctor, “They have so much to live for, they can’t
die. Surely this isn’t true. Can’t you do anything more to help them?” He was breaking apart, it was
tearing him from the inside out, knowing that this has been going on for years and yet when the end has
come, it feels like an illusion; unreal.

After so many years of the suffering and the tantalizingly painful and slow death, at long last they had
decided they had enough. It affected everyone around them. The first time [REDACTED] heart had failed,
their brother couldn’t take it. Their brother had attempted suicide and the both of them ended up in a
hospital, bed ridden. Since then a hospital visit hasn’t been a regular occurrence, however the deep and
sanguinary wound had never mended itself.

“I’m afraid not. We keep them on life support and there’s a small chance they could live, a very small
chance.”

“Keep them on it then.” The harshness and unease this father felt was copious. His voice was breaking
and so was his entire being. While the conversation of his child’s health continued, [REDACTED]’s
brother was staring blankly at their seemingly lifeless body. Is that what he had looked like after jumping
into that train all those years ago?

The boy sauntered over to this lifeless body. This couldn’t be his sibling. That isn’t them, what he was
looking at was a soon to be corpse, a carcass. A lifeless shell of what used to be the joyous and
overwhelmingly happy light of his life. But that kid who used to be happy had died long ago, [REDACTED]
had died long before this day. That fact was one recognized several years too late.
 [REDACTED] stepped hesitantly through the wet grass, navigating their way through the path of
stepping stones of which laid unevenly upon the ground. A familiar landscape, a home away from home.
They stepped past a few black roses and lavender. The setting sun made the flowers and lake beside
them shimmer, illuminating the clearing with a golden glow. This small pond, filled with frogs upon lily
pads and the tiny fish swimming serenely beneath them had a wistful atmosphere and a light airiness
that told a tale that seemed longer than time itself.

“It’s about time you arrived.”

[REDACTED] quickly craned their head and body the opposite direction in which they were facing,
directly making eye contact with a young child. Their inner child, such irony.

“W-what?” they stuttered, confused.

The child looked up to their older self, “Dead things arrive here, this version of us is.” They explained,
looking back into the pond, gazing at the cod. We are what was left behind, but only in memory.”

“So, I’m dead?” “Not yet.”

How morbid.

“You’ve been on this path for a long while, what did you grow up to be?”

“Celebrity, I guess you could say. It’s a lot worse than I ever could have anticipated it so.”

A weak pause between the two.

“Your subconscious chose this place. Technically you aren’t truly dead yet, like I’ve said, but you are
about to be. You needed a send off place, if you do choose to go.”

“If I ‘choose to go’?” [REDACTED] asked again, confused.

“You can stay here for however long you need. You may reside here looking for the piece you missed.”
They gently picked a marigold flower, holding it up higher towards their heart. “Or, you may let go. All it
takes is letting that flower slip away. You’ll stay here if you do decide to let go, I think so anyway.
Your brother was here once, he held a red flower. One day he was gone, but he never let go, so he
lived.”

Silence fell over them as they stared at the marigold flower, taking it into their own hand as their
younger self passed it on. It seemed damage around the edges of the sift petals. The flower was dying
from the bottom upwards, withering away just as they both were at that moment in time. The feeling of
death was unmistakable and unique, unlike anything else they had felt before, would it be so bad to
simply leave everything behind? To finally be at peace and die? No matter how painful?

“Do what you need to. You’ve done so much, you’ve hurt yourself and so many others and it has
corrupted you from the inside out.” The child turned his head upward, returning the melancholy look
their older self gave them. “It’s not selfish, nobody would blame you because at the same time you’ve
brought light to the people around you. Why do you think your brother chose a life to continue
living?”
 This really was the ending. What kind of sick ultimatum was this? They could choose to finally be
done with it all, they had to choose to end their own life all over again.

Their gaze met the water, the flow of life and the very essence of time and memory itself molding into
whatever shape it wanted. So complicated yet so free. And as the marigold hit the water, everything
seemed to slow down for just a moment. The shattering of the kind petals and the stem breaking into
hundreds of atoms as they sink to the bottom of the pond allows the water to grow clear to the both of
them, forming into a deep blue coldness.

The coldness seeps into them, their skin and bones grow into a pale color, showing the resistance at first
and finally after so many years of trying and losing, they close their eyes and feel at peace. Nothing to
worry about now. Everything is okay in this moment of time, no matter how quickly it may pass or how
no time passes at all the tranquility and equanimity makes every meal skipped, every line of powder,
and every hit of a cigarette all worth it.

And soon, only hours after, their brother would meet the same fate.

The sun dipped below the horizon, leaving everything in the pale light of the moon, and when night fell,
there was nothing beautiful left to see in the real world. It had all burnt to ash. And with the throw of
that same red flower from all those years ago, it was finally understood that those flowers in the forest
hold the placidity that they couldn’t allow life to gift them.