Death

"Another day counting toward my foreseeable death," I muttered with a dull voice as I opened the door of my flat, preparing to head out for work.

I am a history teacher in a famous high school located in the city where I lived. Despite my young age, having just turned 24 years old a month ago, I could boast about achieving two degrees at such a youthful stage of my life.

In truth, it was evident that I was overqualified for my position at the high school. Like my peers with similar academic accomplishments, I should have been dreaming big and aspiring to work on a grander scale. However, my dreams were overshadowed by the grim reality of my lung cancer diagnosis.

With only four months left to live, I questioned the extent to which a man could dream in the face of such a prognosis.

Dreaming, in any form at this point, felt agonisingly cruel.

According to my doctor, there was a possibility that I might not even live long enough to see the end of those four months. The likelihood of me dying before that time was greater.

Every day, I pondered the thought of at least being able to complete the current semester, so my students wouldn't have to fret over an unfinished term. This gradually became the sole motivation behind my purposeful awakening each morning—to impart the knowledge within me to others.

Regrettably, not everyone shared my enthusiasm for history and art. Nevertheless, this lack of shared passion didn't truly bother me, as I prioritised the students who genuinely exhibited an interest in my teachings.

Today happened to be Wednesday, and the subject for the day for Grade 10 was history, which I would be teaching at 8 AM. The current time was 7:10 AM, indicating that there remained approximately 50 minutes until the commencement of the history class.

The school where I taught was conveniently close to my apartment. I could have walked there within about 40 minutes at a leisurely pace. However, walking wasn't even a consideration for me on this particular morning.

Given my struggle to breathe and walk, the idea of enduring a 40-minute straight walk would only further diminish my already limited lifespan.

Instead, I opted for my usual routine. I would embark on the familiar route I had been following since the inception of my teaching career—a brief walk to the bus stop situated just 5 minutes away from my apartment, followed by boarding a bus to reach the school.

This short walk to the bus stop served as one of the few activities through which I attempted to engage my deteriorating body.

Lung cancer patients endured numerous hardships, and even without prior knowledge of my condition for most people, my appearance alone was sufficient to convey the severity of my illness.

I resembled a frail bag of bones, as though a gust of wind could effortlessly knock me to the ground. Sadly, this depiction wasn't far from reality.

With each step, I experienced a persistent tightness in my chest, making it arduous to move forward or backwards. Occasionally, I would succumb to a cough, accompanied by traces of blood.

Eventually, I arrived at my destination—the bus stop, where I would await transportation to my workplace.

As I stood at the bus stop, my weary gaze wandered over the bustling street, capturing the essence of yet another typical morning. The city thrived with people rushing to their daily responsibilities, their hurried steps creating a symphony of purpose.

Amidst the flurry of activity, my eyes scanned the familiar faces, seeking glimpses of the students I had the privilege of teaching. And then, amidst the crowd, I spotted her.

Emily.

Emily is one of the few students who held an unwavering love for history. Her infectious enthusiasm and genuine passion for the subject always brought a smile to my face. Today, however, my heart skipped a beat as I noticed her distracted state.

Lost in her own world, she wore headphones that shielded her from the bustling reality surrounding her.

My attention shifted, and a growing unease settled within me as I sensed something awry.

In the distance, a truck barreled down the road, its presence marked by a cacophony of blaring horns, screeching tires, and erratic manoeuvres.

It was a scene fraught with danger, a looming catastrophe.

The driver, desperate to warn pedestrians of the impending peril, made valiant attempts to clear a path. Yet, absorbed in her digital sanctuary, Emily remained blissfully unaware of the impending disaster.

My pulse quickened, and time seemed to slow as I assessed the situation. I couldn't allow harm to befall her, not when her passion for history echoed the very essence of why I embraced each day with purpose.

Without hesitation, I pushed aside the limitations imposed by my ailing body, propelled by an innate determination to protect her.

"Emily! Watch out!" I called out, my voice strained with urgency. Alas, the music coursing through her headphones rendered my warning futile, cocooning her in blissful ignorance.

Summoning a surge of energy, I launched myself towards her, defying the constraints of my fragile condition.

I sprinted with all the strength I could muster, aiming to reach her before tragedy struck.

Just as the truck hurtled dangerously close, I managed to intercept her path. With a burst of adrenaline, I propelled Emily out of harm's way, my body positioned as a shield in her stead.

The deafening impact of metal against flesh reverberated through me, a searing agony that momentarily eclipsed the world.

The world blurred around me as pain exploded through my body. As consciousness teetered on the precipice, I became aware of the screeching brakes and horrified gasps that enveloped the air.

'It hurts,' I thought, and I couldn't even shout out in pain. My body was bathed in pain, and I could not breathe. It was a strange sensation, but I felt life rapidly leaving my body.

"Mr. Alex?"

"Mr. Alex!"

I suddenly heard my name being called by a familiar voice. Even in this state where everything was a mess to me, I did not need to be told who it was that was calling me.

Emily.

Her pleas were loud in my ears, but slowly every external sound apart from my inner voice slowly faded till I could hear nothing.

Haha.

To think I would still die before the semester ended.

Tough luck, I suppose.

Well, I'm glad I was able to exchange this already worthless life of mine for another to live. This thought alone brought a smile to my face.

Well, I want to believe there is a smile on my face since there was no way of me knowing.

My body already felt numb, and the only thing that seemed to be living was my consciousness, but even that was already leaving me.

At this point, I knew I was truly dying, but honestly…

I don't want to die.

I really don't want to di-e.

I d-d-don't w-w-want t-to di-e.

As the last of my consciousness left me, silence enveloped my entire self.

This was the end, or so I thought.