Earth, October 10th, 2023. 2:34 a.m. A lonely hospital room shrouded in darkness.

 

In that dim room, Alex Turner lay motionless, his weakened body bathed in the faint glow of monitors and machines. The night was still and silent, and the only companionship he had was the gentle, rhythmic hums of the medical devices that monitored his fading life. It was a moment he had long anticipated - the day of his departure from this world, a day he had grown to accept, even welcome.

Summoning all the strength left in his frail form, Alex began to speak, his voice trembling like the fragile leaf on the wind. Even though there was no one else to listen, he felt the need to share his story.

   — "I am Alex Turner," he whispered, his voice barely heard in the quiet room. "Born on the fifteenth day of September in the year 2004, I spent my entire childhood in a small, unremarkable place known as Wellspring—a charming countryside town, nothing more, nothing less."

As his voice revisited his past, memories flooded Alex's mind, revealing scenes long forgotten - the sun-filled streets of Wellspring, echoing with the laughter of his older brothers and the tender embrace of his mother's love.

— "It happened that my dad was never around," he went on, "and I don't even know if he's alive now. Mom never talked much about him, and I didn't ask. It didn't matter to me."

The room was filled with a heavy silence as Alex paused.

Alex took a deep breath and continued, his voice growing stronger as he recounted his journey.

— "I was the youngest of three boys in a family that often struggled with money, despite how hard my mom worked."

— "She was all the family I needed," he continued. "She is a wonderful, caring person and loved us so dearly. She worked day and night to support our family and keep us happy."

As Alex closed his eyes, he could still see her gentle, loving smile and sweet voice as she read him bedtime stories, tucking him in and kissing his forehead before sleeping.

— "My brothers, to this day, still dream of our father's return, while I did not care that much. Maybe because I don't remember him at all, and this was probably the reason that made us distant."

He paused for a second, letting out a weak, trembling breath.

— "This is stupid, I know…" he mumbled to himself.

With a bitter smile, he recalled how his family had always struggled with their finances, even though his mother did her best to ensure they had everything they needed.

— "We did not have much, but we were happy. Well, at least I was, for sure. The other two were always busy trying to be better than the other, always competing and often fighting. But I guess this is how normal brothers are."

Alex paused again, recalling how his brothers constantly argued, making our mother's life even harder.

— "But that's enough about them," Alex continued, his tone suddenly becoming cheerful.

— "As a child, I was a rather sickly and weak kid, which resulted in me having few friends. Well, none, to be exact. Even so, I never gave up. I would try my best and stay positive. I became interested in music and art very early on. I loved to draw and would listen to music whenever I had the chance."

As the clock ticked on and the room remained shrouded in darkness, Alex's words painted a vivid picture of his life — the sketches in tattered notebooks, sitting in front of a cassette player and listening to his favorite songs.

— "On my 5th birthday, I received a piano from my mom. It was used and really old. It sounded like crap, but It was my most favorite thing in the world."

He smiled as he remembered how happy his mother had been to see him play the piano and always encouraging him to play every day.

— "She used to play as well when she was younger and even gave me lessons after work whenever she could."

— "As the months passed, my talent and passion for music and art grew stronger, and my mother couldn't be happier. I was always a quiet, gentle kid, and the piano and the drawing pencils were the only things that brought joy to my otherwise bleak existence. I would spend hours on end in front of the piano, trying to perfect my skills."

— "My brothers, on the other hand, were a different story. They were popular among the other kids and made friends easily. However, I liked how different they were. Their frequent absences from home allowed me to practice my music for hours without any interruptions."

The room fell silent for several minutes as he collected his thoughts.

— "I still remember..." he murmured, his voice filled with nostalgia. "Third of December, 2009. I practiced my piano in my room, just like any other day… But this day was a lot different. This was the day I wrote my first music."

As he spoke, Alex's fingers began to move in the air as though he could feel the keys of a piano beneath them.

— "It was simple composition," he continued, "Most people will say even boring. And I agree… But I was five at the time. This was what probably made the difference."

— "When I played the full composition for the first time," he reminisced, "I turned my head and saw a girl sitting on my bed, watching me play and moving her head into the tact of the music. The only thing is… I was completely alone in the room. Her heavenly look made me freeze - red hair, full of freckles face, and those reflections in her eyes of blue... A silky white dress that was so thin that left little to the imagination… And the body is so feminine and beautiful that even me being five years old made me forget my name."

He looked around but only heard the soft hum of machines registering his pulse. It was the only sound in the room.

— "I wish to see you again... just one more time," he whispered, his voice barely above a breath.

He took a pause, waiting for any response or a sign that he knew would never come. After a moment, he continued, his voice tinged with sadness.

— "It is a no then…"

A lone tear escaped his eye, tracing a silent path down his cheek and falling onto the pillow. Alex's voice quivered as he recounted the surreal encounter that had left an indelible mark on his heart.

— "When I blinked, she was gone, like she was never there," he concluded, his words trailing off into the quiet of the hospital room.

— "I thought that I was losing my mind," Alex said jokingly, a wry smile playing at the corners of his lips. "I even checked every corner of the room to make sure."

Alex's voice filled the room as he recollected his memories.

— "When I played once more, nothing happened," he chuckled, shaking his head at the innocence of his younger self, "so I thought that I was just getting tired and imagining things."

He paused, his eyes closing briefly as he relived the past in the present moment. The room remained still, the soft hum of machines a comforting backdrop to his recollections.

— "Next time was two years after," he recalled, a nostalgic smile gracing his lips. "My new, improved music, but the same beautiful you. She was there again."

He paused momentarily, his fingers once again tracing invisible keys in the air as if he could still feel the piano beneath his hands.

— "But I blinked too quickly," he admitted, his voice tinged with regret, "and she was gone before I could even say a word to her. I checked my room again. She was just like a fleeting image in a dream. She left without saying a word, and I was alone once again."

His smile faded as he spoke, replaced by sadness and longing.

— "I composed another song right away, hoping to see her again. I tried again and again, waited, but she never came."

Alex sighed softly.

— "That made me put my music on the back burner. I thought that I was losing my mind," he admitted, "So I focused on art. It was quite interesting, to say the least. My school teacher signed me up for art class," he recounted, his tone shifting to one of excitement. "She even bought me some supplies. My sketchbook had impressed her, even though I had made those drawings during my math class."

— "With every drawing," he spoke softly, "I felt her somewhere near… But I never saw her. Just a presence of something... divine. And this feeling made me think that I'm not good enough. Just a little bit more, and I'll see that woman again from back when I was five. I was convinced that I was just not good enough for her…"

His memories carried him through the ups and downs of his creative journey.

— "I did my best," he admitted with a sigh, "I put my entire soul into my drawings, but it didn't yield the results I wanted. So, I tried my luck again in music."

The room seemed to hang in anticipation as he continued his tale.

— "And I wrote more compositions," he recounted with a glimmer of determination, "I kept writing more and more compositions, over and over, until I was truly satisfied. Whoever it was, I wanted to see her again. It took nearly two years of relentless effort, but it was like a dream come true when I finally saw her. I couldn't believe my eyes. You were there, smiling at me. I stared at you for what felt like an eternity, but it was only about ten seconds. Those ten seconds were pure magic. I knew then that I wasn't completely crazy. You were real."

He paused.

— "I never gave up on my art," he continued. "Whenever I needed a break from music, I came back to it."

— "My teachers and mother," he continued, "all thought that I was a music genius and a promising artist. I don't know. I think I was just a stupid boy who had fallen for an imaginary girl who had mesmerized me from the first sight."

He chuckled softly at the irony of it all, his heart still heavy with the memory of that ethereal figure.

— "But every time I saw her," he admitted, his voice tinged with both joy and frustration, "it became twice as difficult to see her again. Just a few seconds of her appearance made me so motivated that I often forgot to eat or sleep. Mom started to worry about me, so I had to make up some reason for such behavior. I decided to tell her the truth that everything I did was to impress a girl. She found it so amusing that she had tears in her eyes, thinking I was young and hopelessly romantic."

He couldn't help but smile at the memory of his mother's reaction.

— "Well," he continued, "A few hours later, my brothers heard it and called it bullshit. I insisted it was true, but for some inexplicable reason, they didn't believe that I could see this girl in my room, only when I played my latest compositions. Instead of understanding, they looked at me with pity." Alex paused briefly, his tone dripping with sarcasm. "I can't imagine why," he added with a bright smile.

The dimly lit hospital room seemed to hang on Alex's every word as he continued his narrative.

— "It taught me a lesson to eat and sleep properly whenever you are focused on your work," he confessed with a smile, "So, as years went by, I got better and better in music and art. My mother even convinced me to put my work online for people to see. I got something like 15 views/listens on my work. Impressive, right? But not that I cared. My main and only audience was this one girl who liked what I wrote."

He couldn't help but shake his head at the irony of it all.

— "I managed to see her every year or so, but every new time it required me to double my effort and dedication. She never said a word, and it made me even more curious and determined."

— "I spent hours, days, weeks, and months on end perfecting my music and drawing skills just to get a glimpse of her or sense her for a few seconds."

— "I was so blinded by my desire to see her that I didn't even notice when I turned 13," he admitted, his voice tinged with a hint of regret.

— "I had no friends. No life, really. I was an outsider and a loner. Nobody really cared. But I did. Because she did."

He took a moment to collect his thoughts, his words painting a vivid picture of his solitary childhood.

— "In the meantime," he continued, his voice wavering slightly, "My health started to get worse. It was a slow process, but eventually, it became obvious to everyone, especially me. I couldn't run anymore, couldn't eat the same foods as before, and eventually, I had to drop out of school due to health issues."

The room seemed to hang in the silence as he struggled to continue.

— "The doctors couldn't find what was wrong. It was like every part of my body was lack of energy and life. Every process of my body was slower, so they didn't really give me a specific diagnosis."

— "But," he pressed on, his voice gaining strength, "that didn't stop me from doing what I love."

He took a moment to compose himself before continuing.

His smile returned as he remembered the hours spent practicing his music and drawing despite his declining health.

— "And the most important thing, I still could see her," he added, a spark of joy lighting his eyes. "But, every time was harder. The music needed to be perfect, the drawings had to be breathtaking, and it started to take a toll on me."

Alex paused for a moment, taking a deep breath before continuing.

— "At the age of 17," he continued, his voice filled with determination, "I decided to paint a portrait of her. After composing another piece of music and catching a glimpse of her once more, I carved in my memory her every feature, measuring every aspect that defined her beauty with my pen. And then I just started painting. It took me 12 hours to make a sketch. And another six months of tireless work to bring it to completion."

The room seemed to fade away as he spoke.

— "Then I saw her," he whispered, his voice quivering with emotion, "First time when she appeared not with music, but a drawing. I felt her presence with every painting before, but not this time. She stood beside me, staring at her reflection in my painting, gazing at it with a sense of recognition. She remained like this for less than ten seconds, then turned to me with a smile. That reaction made me feel like the luckiest man alive. I wanted to show this portrait to someone but quickly decided not to. It might have been selfish, but I wanted to be the sole keeper of her beauty. I had spent my entire life stealing glances at her, and I couldn't bear the thought of displaying her like any ordinary painting. Absolutely not. I hid the painting."

— "A few months after completing the painting, I fainted. At the hospital, doctors discovered that my body was suffering from severe malnutrition, and my organs were starting to shut down due to exhaustion. The news wasn't pleasant, and I had to spend several days in the hospital. After some tests and a lot of waiting, doctors informed me that my case was unique and that they didn't know how to treat it. They didn't even know what was causing my condition."

He took a deep breath before continuing. The room seemed to close in around him as he spoke of his grim diagnosis.

— "The next year and a half," he continued, his voice growing weaker, "I spent here in the hospital. I should have died dozens of times, but for some reason, I am still alive. In constant pain, an agony that breaks not only your body but the soul. The family was called in here to say goodbye so many times that they got tired of it eventually, and I can't blame them. I am tired as well. I don't know when it will end. I started to ask doctors for mercy and to finish it, but they couldn't. Don't get me wrong, I want to live. I fought my illness as best as I could, doing every risky thing doctors proposed, but nothing helped. But this… Is too much for me."

Alex's voice trailed off, and the room once again fell into silence, the weight of his suffering hanging in the air.

After a moment, Alex continued, his voice barely a whisper.

— "This was the longest period I hadn't seen her, and it was torture," he admitted, his voice tinged with a mixture of sadness and frustration, "I couldn't even play or draw. Each movement made my whole body scream in pain. All I could do was lie in this bed and watch the world go by. My brothers had grown up and only visited me on my birthday. They had their lives and friends. They couldn't waste time in a hospital room with a dying brother."

He took a deep breath, the bitterness of his words lingering in the air.

— "Mom visits me now once or twice a week," he continued, his voice softening. "She would talk to me, tell me stories, and read me books. It was comforting, but it was a double-edged sword. On the one hand, I enjoyed the company and distraction, but on the other hand, seeing her suffering caused me pain more than any disease."

— "She knew, just as well as I, that the end was coming," he explained, his words punctuated with a heavy sigh, "and that there was nothing anyone could do about it."

As the months wore on, the pain and fatigue became unbearable. The days blurred into each other, and the thought of continuing his struggle was too much to bear.

One night, while lying in his hospital bed, Alex finally made the decision. He would stop fighting. He would let go. He would accept his fate and allow himself to be free.

It wasn't a decision that came easily. For the longest time, Alex had held onto the hope that he would somehow beat the odds and overcome his illness. He had clung to the belief that his story wasn't over and that there was still a chance for him.

But deep down, Alex knew that the time had come. He knew that the time for hope had passed and that he needed to accept reality. He needed to let go.

— "Should I try to create one last composition before I go? Maybe you are listening, maybe not. Who knows…" Alex thought to himself as he slowly got up and, with difficulty, made his way towards the electronic piano in the corner of the room. Each movement made his bones creak, and his skin scream in agony.

The instrument had been a recent gift from his mother. He had barely used it.

Despite his pain, Alex reached the piano and carefully sat back on the bed. After getting comfortable, Alex placed his fingers on the keys. His fingers trembled as he pressed the keys, but he didn't care.

— "Hmm…" said Alex as he hit the record button and closed his eyes. Alex began to play slowly but surely, each note flowing through him and resonating in his soul.

An hour later, all the emotions he went through his entire life, unrequited love and loneliness, all this was reflected in his final composition. His eyes were full of tears, as well as his face.

When he finally opened his eyes, he didn't see her. His Magnum Opus, a work of his entire life, didn't find its audience.

The silence was deafening, the emptiness was overwhelming, and the despair was suffocating.

He didn't move, just staring blankly at the piano, feeling as if his heart had been ripped out of his chest.

Eventually, he removed the memory card from the piano and placed it on the table with a letter he had prepared beforehand, with a quick addition about his final composition.

— "Maybe the doctors or somebody else will find and listen to it someday?"

He smiled weakly and leaned back on the pillow, closing his eyes. He had nothing left. No more hope, no more dreams, no more desires. All that was left was darkness.

— "Goodbye, everyone."

Without a second thought, he took pills in his hand and, with a swift motion, placed them in his mouth. A few sips of water, and it was done. Now he waits.

A minute, and then two.

He stared at the ceiling, and the pillow was now completely wet from his tears. He had no more strength to move. On the verge of eternal darkness, a known figure leaned over right before his eyes got shut.

As he realized it was her, a weak smile appeared on his face. He couldn't talk, but his smile told her everything she needed to know. As her now sad face got closer to Alex's blurry eyes, she gave him a kiss, a "thank you" and "goodbye" in one act. No words were needed.

As the kiss finally ends, so does Alex's life.

On a quiet, overcast morning, as the sun's first rays struggled to penetrate the heavy clouds, Alex's body lay lifeless in an empty hospital room. His battle was over, but his legacy lived on in the art and music he had left behind. Those who knew him mourned the loss of a young man who had so much talent, so much potential, and so much love to give.

In the years that followed, Alex's art and music got recognized and touched the hearts of countless people. His work found its way into galleries and concert halls, and his story became an inspiration to aspiring artists and musicians everywhere. Many will say that he was one of the most talented compositors of the 21st century. His main drawing of an unknown girl will be found decades later and become a national treasure.

No one will ever know her identity.

Although he left this world at a young age, Alex's imagination and enthusiasm will continue to resonate through the art pieces and musical compositions he produced, serving as a bitter reminder of a life that ended too soon.