‘It gets easier.’

The first time Dr. Ryan Kimura had heard those words back when he was a medical intern working under a surgical oncologist.

‘It gets easier.’

The middle-aged doctor had told him and the other intern, a young woman in her mid-twenties, had empathetically nodded.

Ryan had said nothing, merely choosing to observe the doctor as he removed the surgical gloves and began to wash his hands. Although the surgical mask partly obscured his visage, Ryan could see the middle-aged doctor blinking away the regret from his brown eyes. The light trembling in his hands as cold water made contact with his slightly bloodied hands; a trembling that the surgeon could only allow after the surgery had been completed told Ryan more about the medical field than any 400$ textbook could.

‘It gets easier.’

Sitting at his patient’s bedside, on a hospital-white swivel chair, he clung onto those words with the fervour of a religious man to their holy book.

“Doctor Ryan?” A weak, wispy voice roused Ryan from his reverie, causing him to blink in surprise.

“Sophie! You’re awake,” Ryan enthusiastically replied, the despair reflected in his gaze blown back by an overbearing positivity.

The bed-ridden girl raised her small hands, rubbing at her eyes to do away with the drowsiness weighing down upon her.

Those who knew Ryan would be surprised if they saw the wide, cheerful grin that was reflected on his normally haggard looking visage. As a doctor, he was allowed to do many things. His profession compensated him well and the resultant financial freedom meant that he didn’t have to worry about a lot of things that normal, every-day people had to.

In return, there was a self-imposed code he forced him to live by. A responsibility, as he saw it, to the public that put their faith in the medical system.

And one of those tenets was…

A Doctor was not allowed to express their sadness before a patient.

A Doctor could not cry before a patient.

He was not allowed to cry.

So Ryan smiled instead.

“Doctor Ryan, I had a dream,” Sophie explained with a childish glee in her eyes, a glee that transcended the confines of her physical limitations.

The realm of imagination.

“Oh?” Ryan replied, his tone conveying his interest. “Can you tell me more about your dream, Sophie?”

“Sure!” Sophie gave him an enthusiastic nod. “I met a lady. A very, very pretty lady!”

Ryan offered an encouraging nod.

“Um, so the pretty lady had wings!”

“Did she now?” Ryan asked.

“Yup!” Sophie replied with a wide grin. “The lady told me that I would be healthy again!”

Ryan’s hands trembled as he blinked away the frustration and guilt that threatened to coalesce and spill out in the form of tears.

“I-I see. What else did the pretty lady say?” Ryan asked, struggling to keep the anguish out of his tone.

“She told me that I would have to go with her if I wanted to get better, though,” Sophie explained, her gaze drooping a little. “That I would have to say bye to Doctor Ryan if I want to get better.”

“Don’t be silly,” Ryan let out a forced laugh. In truth, he found Sophie’s words disturbing, but he didn’t let it show on his face.

The reason the girl chose to utter his name instead of her family was because she was a ward of the state—- an orphan—- like Ryan was.

“Doctor Ryan, can I hug you?” She asked, her eyes sparkling with innocence.

Although Ryan was still shaken by Sophie’s words, he nodded.

As Sophie wrapped her frail arms around him, she leaned in closer and whispered, “I said yes.”

“NURSE!” Ryan’s ear-piercing scream rang out, bouncing off the walls of the brightly lit hospital corridor. “NURSE!”

A loud, penetrating sound rang out as Ryan’s fist collided against a hollow, cylindrical metal railing.

“She should’ve had a few more weeks,” He muttered under his breath as red blood trickled down his fist.

The pain coursing through his hand was agonising to the point where tears involuntarily trickled down his cheeks but even that couldn’t hold a candle to the all-encompassing ball of grief that had subsumed his heart.

‘Metacarpal fracture of the fifth digit,’ The words rang hollow in his mind. A glance was all it took for him to diagnose the likely injury he had inflicted upon himself.

“What… what use is this knowledge… if I can’t…,” Ryan whispered under his breath.

The sound of flesh and bone colliding against metal rang out again.

He was the odd one. He knew that.

A few hours ago, someone had died in this hospital. Yet the receptionist would smile and greet customers, like she usually did. The other doctors would pay him their condolences and move on, only because they knew how attached he got to each of his patients. Professional courtesy. The management would send a bill to the government to pay his salary. The Nurse he had called for had probably moved on to the next patient and rightfully so— for there were still other lives that could be saved.

He was the only one who stubbornly clung to the past.

The only one who refused to move on.

Doctors, more than anyone else, understood the fragility of human life. They understood its transitory nature and the ones that stuck to it ended up making their peace with the wretched reality of this world. .

He was the odd one out for trying to deny reality for what it was.

“It doesn’t get easier,” Ryan muttered aloud, leaning against the rooftop railing as he was confronted by a cold realisation.

“It never gets easier, does it,” he repeated again, his expression lost.

Medicine was wonderful. But their understanding was far from complete.

Twelve years of studying and he couldn’t save his patient. He couldn’t even accurately tell her when she would pass.

Angling his gaze towards the sky, he let all his rage– his fury— his agony— explode outwards, shaped in the form of words.

“TAKE ME INSTEAD, YOU DAMN COWARD!” he screamed out at the top of his lungs from the top of the five-story hospital building, knowing that he, more than likely, sounded like a complete lunatic to the people below.

“I shall accept that proposal,” A sonorous voice rang out behind him, startling Ryan. Before he could pivot to see who had creeped up behind him, a forceful push landed upon his back, knocking the air out of his lungs as he was sent crashing against the same railing he was venting his fury on. He tried to stabilise himself but the force behind the push was so unnaturally strong that he wasn’t able to generate enough resistance with his legs in time.

In the haze of disbelief, shock, fury and abject confusion, there was one thing his gaze registered as he was falling to his death.

‘Golden… feathers? Wings?’