1 Epitaph of the bedridden (Part one).

Room 27 Was the only room in the hospital that nurses and even patients could like.

It wasn't a likeness for the patient inside the room, but about what was coming from it.

Music.

One would think that any sound that cut the tense and almost holy silence inside a hospital would be prohibited—and it was. Except for room 27.

Patients and nurses that passed around there didn't bat an eye at the music. Some people even stopped in front for a couple of seconds while closing their eyes. Nurses went near to take a breath while patients dreamed of better days.

Even so, none a single one of those who got close to room 27 would ask to stop the music.

Why would they?

In The intensive care floor, it was normal to hear screaming, crying and doctors running, so hearing music, as melancholic as it sounded, was a fresh air that calmed everyone.

It was with a present sound, that a nurse, with the courage to do so entered the room.

The nurse opened the door extremely slow trying to not make the person playing the piano stop.

Inside the room, there was a bedridden young man. The words ugly and handsomeness weren't part of his description. Those words didn't have a place when looking at the thin pale man. No. The words pity was the first that came in front.

The kid slowly pressed the white and black keys with his eyes closed, almost like whispering with his finger at the long keyboard.

The sharp eyes of the nurse noted that the kid was using a lot of strength to press the keys.

Not that she was surprised. She had been working in this hospital for the past 9 years. If there was a patient that she knew was the one from room 27.

They didn't even need to go inside the room for them to know how he was feeling. The music that he played was all the proof they needed. That same music was what made her be here. As this time the sound sounded different. It was slow and sombre. Sombre than any song she had ever heard.

It was the kind of sound that make you be swallowed by sadness.

Hearing the patient slowing the tempo and making her uncomfortable she asked, "Are you okay?"

Music stoped.

Hearing a voice stopping his music make him flinch for a second only to take a deep breath and look up.

In front of him was a blonde nurse. He didn't know how to label her, something that offended the nurse a lot of times. But to be fair he didn't want anyone to be his friend. No, when he could die at any moment. Yet, the nurse would come every day to talk to him and listen to his music. He was thankful for that. Even if he knew that he was being used as a sort of verbal diary— he liked that, it make him feel not so much out of tune with the world around him.

"I'm dying"

The nurse looked at him with a scornful gaze, "You been saying this for the past month. Stop! You need to look at the future with hope!"

Hearing this made him chuckle a little. He doubt that even the nurse believed her words.

Before they could keep speaking the door of the room opened up fast, followed by a cheerful voice, "C, your best and only friend is here!"

Hearing his nickname being called he flinched again.

It was not a voice that he wanted to hear now.

"Roxy, What are you doing here?"

The girl stopped with an angry look and yell at him, "You bastard! What is that depressing song you keep playing?! The doctor called me from work again!"

Roxy was now in front of him and looked directly at his eyes.

He noted, that for a second her gaze went to his trembling hands. She wanted to ask how I was. But she was full on her facade. Not that he blamed her. Acting like this in front of him was her form of coping.

Normally he would also follow the fight. A small way to make her feel better.

But, today he didn't have the strength.

The impatient Roxy asked again, "What's the deal with the song? Do you want to die that much?"

Hearing this he chuckled, she didn't hear the song. But she knows him more than everyone so she reaches her conclusion.

The worst? She was probably right.

Knowing that Roxy was going to stay he started to think about what to say to her.

One side of him wanted to tell her that he was just composing a song and make her leave quickly enough. But the other side of him knew that if he was going to die he wanted her here.

In the end, to stay or leave was a decision that should be taken by her and not him.

He looked at her bright blue eyes that were full of worry, making him doubt again what he was going to ask. Even so, he knew that if he didn't ask she really would hate him.

"The day I die do you want to stay or leave?"

Seeing C looking straight at her eyes Roxy flinched. Any fake anger that she had in her disappeared and instead a vulnerable 21-year-old girl was left.

He kept looking at her in silence until she started to say in a low whisper, "Please no. I had good news today"

Hearing this he flinched again. He wanted to hate himself, to call himself a bastard. But, in the end, being sick wasn't his fault and he respected Roxy enough to not pity himself. There was already enough doctors and nurses for that.

Hearing the silence Roxy started to tear up, "When?"

"Today? Tomorrow? I can feel it…I'm dying"

They look at each other in silence for a while. As always it was her that broke it while grabbing a chair and sitting close to him.

"Is that what you are playing? The sound of death?"

Hearing this he chuckles. He didn't have an answer for that. It had been a whole month since he kept dreaming about a dark room.

He didn't mind the darkness. No, what was scary was the silence.

He couldn't remember a single time in his life that he didn't listen to anything. Other patients that were like him, prisoners of their bodies, may love the silence. But not someone with a perfect pitch like him.

That silent darkroom was almost nightmarish.

Since first appearing in that room he had tried to hear anything. Maybe, after hearing something he could finally give some semblance of humanity to the darkroom.

Just like he did since he was a child.

Hearing a sound to then compared it to other sounds was a game that he had started when he was five. At that time he didn't know what musical notes were. So the only thing he could do was to group objects that make the same 'sound'. It wasn't until he was eight that he understood that those groups were notes. After that, he begged for a piano. His family didn't have the money for that but seeing him so insistent they ended up buying him a melodica. Since then—just like Arthur with Excalibur he went everywhere with his instrument.

But that room was different and didn't like to be put in a group.

It was after the second week that he grabbed a sliver of an idea. 'What if I compose a song that sounded like the darkroom?'

A month passed since then. He was having progress every day and he feel that his song resembled more and more that darkroom. The problem was that the closer he got, the more weak his body felt.

It was today that he decided to finish the song, but for some reason, he also knew that today was going to be his last.

His thoughts were interrupted by the warm and rugged touch of his best friend's hands. Looking at her he nodded. "I think it is"

"The don't play it!"

"I can't—

"are you really going to die today?"

He again looked at her, her brows were frowning and her lips were pursed in a weird ugly way. The kind of ugliness that you need to have to not cry.

Hearing the silence he nodded in response.

The moment he nodded his head, he was waiting for a cry, yelling or maybe a beating. But no empty space. The warm touch of her hand leaves him. Roxy had run out of the room, leaving him alone with the nurse.

Seeing the empty chair he closed his eyes and started to play again.