139 Years to the End of the World

Goes in Threes, Part Three

People used to say that good things always comes in threes. I've always wondered if there was a physical law that prevented bad things from happening in that succession as well. Turns out, there wasn't any. Bad things happen all the time. But sometimes, the combination in which these events unfolded are just too perfect in its destruction that 'unfortunate' becomes a tame word in comparison. Sometimes, the world just isn't fair.

"Dad," Leila greeted me once I stepped out of the elevator and into the hallway of the highest floor, nearly tripping over as she hugged me. I hugged back, careful not to use my new arm.

At thirty-seven years old, she was no longer the young girl I once knew. She had her auburn hair straightened into a ponytail, which flayed slightly at the end. Dressed in classy, onyx black-pleated skirt and a long sleeved, white-collared tip, I could barely recognize her were it not for her hazel eyes behind her silver rimmed, light temple glasses.

But I could not bring myself to rejoice at seeing her again. Gently, I pushed her away to an arms' length. With a sombre stare, I asked, "How's your mother."

She took a hold of my one good arm. "Follow me," she said, her eyes glistening on the verge of tears at the thought of her mother's condition.

I followed my daughter through the corridor. In contrary to the lower levels where I was from, the level smelled of faint lavender. The floor was a smooth quartz white, the walls painted bleach instead of wallpapered, with meticulous waves etched into them. It felt more like a hotel corridor than a hospital.

I remarked on the emptiness of the floor. "It's really quiet here."

"It's the V.I.P level," she explained. "Other than a few staffed nurses and doctors, hardly anyone ever comes here."

In all the commotion of the past few days of my life, I had forgotten that Joan was considered a hero, and would of course, be given privileges befitting such a status. Though she never lorded the privilege and had always treated the people around her as friends. Her humble, friendly personality meant she was never consumed by the fame or power that came with her status.

"Here we are." Leila stopped outside ward 13-G, standing aside to let me enter.

"Aren't you coming with me?" I asked.

She gave a shaky smile, replying, "I think she would like to talk to you alone for this." I nodded uncertainly at her before opening the door and crossing the threshold.

Right before the door closed behind me however, Leila voiced out, "Dad." I turned back to face her. "It'll be okay."

I was sure I gave a smile back. Not as a gesture of reassurance, but of fatherly pride. I had nearly forgotten that at that point in time, she was older than I was. No longer a kid, but an adult fully capable of supporting herself. And apparently, me as well.

With a soft click as the door locked in place, I was blocked off from my daughter. Turning forward, I was treated to a ward that seemed more like a hotel room. Continuing from the design of the corridor outside, the carvings of waves on the wall spread in, expanding into a tapestry of swirled flowers and out into the room. The floors were softly carpeted, and even from my angle, I could see the large screen television embedded into the wall, though it was turned off. Beyond the sill, the window was covered by silver embroidered beige curtains. The lightings were a smooth yellow instead of the glaring white common to hospitals, though a knob beside the door showed the option to change the colour tone.

Stepping forward, I looked into the bathroom. The floor was marbled, and so was the sink. There was a bathtub and a standing shower, with the toilet a comfortable size in contrast to the smaller ones downstairs.