Life is unpredictable. Life is like a wheel. With many twists and miracles. Sometimes you're soaring high in the sky, other times you might be experiencing a downfall. But, when it comes to destiny, no one is able to comprehend its mysterious way of...
A man with wavy blond hair combed to one side of his head, with black hair tied into cornrows on another side; was sitting on a branch of a tall tree, looking at his silver watch on his left wrist, whistling slowly while staring at a young man who was lying on his white bed in one of many rooms of this big famous Hospital of St. Mary, London.
"Fifteen more minutes and it will be midnight soon," he monologue to himself while pushing his tinted blue glasses which was now almost at the bridge of his nose. He took a deep inhale of his cigarette and blew out grey smokes later, his hands started to fix up his white shirt and black blazer, his yellow-green eyes still glued at the young man who was now being checked by a male doctor.
"Your time is almost up, boy," he smirked as he stood up on the branch, with a saw held in his hand. His silhouette against the dimming sky was undetectable to the human's naked eyes; his heart was restless as the time crawled towards the minutes of accession of another Waning Crescent night.
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"Doctor, is my condition getting worse?" A question blurted out from the mouth of a young man who was sitting on the hospital bed, his back was leaned against two white pillows. His yellow-green orbs could not outshine his brown auburn, short hair as they appeared tired and sad; his sickness displayed greatly upon his underweight body frame with his skin sagging and bones protruding. His complexion was pale as a ghost.
The patient was attended by a physician in one of leftover, countable nights for the frail profile. The physician shook his head deliberately, heaving a huge sigh as he hated to express the worst ever news towards his patients especially to those who were already succumbed to prolong illness and awaiting death. With heavy heart, he spoke in a small voice. "I'm truly sorry, Mr. Alan Humphries. Your condition isn't getting better at all. You've reached the end phase of your terminal illness."
The patient, Alan Humphries carved a thin smile on his sallow face before he snorted. "It's incurable then, isn't it? So, how long do I have, Dr. Knight?"
Quietude held sway the room as time crawled every second. Dr. Knight's mouth seemed to seal from blurting another devastated statement towards Alan whose eyes were darting directly on his face. While diverting his gaze towards the opposite side of Alan, Dr. Knight said, "You don't have much time, Mr. Humphries. I presume you can only live for at most, probably till the end of the month."
Hearing the incoming information rung in his ears gave no surprise to the sickly profile. He knew his body too well, hence he accepted the news with no reaction and emotion projected from him.
"Huh, I've that long to live and enjoy another beautiful sight of the world," Alan let out his breath heavily. "Ne, doctor, recently I thought of what will be coming of me if I don't contract with this disease. I might become a successful and famous botanist. I love gardening; seeing flowers bloom across the vast green land while greeting the soothing morning sunlight. The pleasure of watching them growing so well is indescribable to me."
