2042, November 22nd...
In the gloomy atmosphere of the hospital room, lay a man on his bed, as pale as the moon. His hair resembled a tree in the season of fall, his eyes as lifeless as a wall.
But he was alive.
This young man was Harry Gren, an unfortunate 22–year–old, diagnosed with an extremely rare disease.
'Huh... another day, another invisible beating.' He would often tell himself in the morning, referring to the endless pain the disease inflicts on his body.
The door creaked open and the sound of heels clicking rang out in the room.
A young woman wearing a nurse's uniform entered through the door, bringing in a platter of food on a metallic trolley.
"Good morning, Mr. Gren," the woman spoke, her voice as rhythmic as a poem. "I trust that you had a good night's sleep?"
"B-barely..." Harry stuttered, his voice raspy.
The nurse smiled kindly, placing a plate of food on the metal tray that lay on the bed.
"You can call one of the nurses when you're done." She said.
Harry nodded as she pulled the trolley out of the door, closing it in the process. Harry looked down at the tray and at the plate.
A few sandwiches, a bunch of grapes, a few pieces of under cooked chicken, and a glass of orange juice.
"Even the hospital has had enough of me..." He told himself, looking at the unappetising plate of food.
He looked to the side and out of the window to see the bustling street of the city. People walked by, some chatting with others and others too focused on their devices.
Harry looked down at his hands. His bones edged out of his skin, displaying how thin he had become.
He could hear the occasional beat of his heart, showing him how silent the room was. He laid his back on his pillow, his flesh and bones feeling like tons of metal.
'If only..." He thought to himself, his body feeling heavier with each passing second. "I had a secondchance."
He closed his eyes, only the sound of heart drumming echoing in his ears.
But eventually... his heart stopped and the room fell silent.
Harry Gren had passed away.