“Oppa, you have the most expressive eyes~ I love them the most!”

“Congratulations on your photo exhibit hyung!”

“Photographer of the Year Awardee”

“Ya piece of ! Stay dead you motherer!”

“ARGH!”

“I’m sorry hyung!

“She left you a voice message son...”

“Goodbye oppa, I can’t do this anymore.”

The world he knew before was blatantly vibrant, blatantly picturesque but blatantly cruel too.

No…

Maybe it wasn’t the World that stole everything from him. Fate did; a single word, a single syllable, a single superstitious belief that fathered the inevitable into existence. ‘Whatever is meant to be, will be.’

The cruelest reality had ironically possessed the strongest symbol of hope for him. He who desperately held on to Fate like a helpless man; he wished for his inevitable, praying that it can lead him to his happy ending.

A happy ending?

For someone of his age to believe in it was pathetic to say the least; but it was his only will to live. Others may ridicule him but if you have walked in his shoes, you’d know why even a fairytale could be your saving grace. He was always hoping for a miracle or even a salvation.

Small slivers of sunlight pierced thru the glass windows while the crisp morning breeze wormed their way thru the crack of one of the rooms in PJS Hospital. Thin translucent ivory colored drapes were hanged along the widows to shield the direct rays of the sun.

Beside the hospital bed is a small white bedside table with an ipod, a black tinted shades, and a French press on top; a locked drawer containing the patient’s most prized possession and a pair of turtle themed indoor slippers.

A mop of messy curly black hair was hiding underneath a turtle printed comforter; supposedly snoring away in deep sleep if he had not been jolted awake by the recurring nightmare. The man immediately sat upright, right hand grasping for a person not there and beads of perspiration blotching his forehead and neck.

His hands were trembling and sweaty, his lips were dried from panting for the much needed air and his heart was thrumming like the wings of a hummingbird. His reality and fear are molding and melding. The lines separating them used to be so clear but now, his subconscious is blurring the lines while his mind was slowly falling into the intricate web of lies, memories and dreams.

“DON’T” the lone man shouted with broken sobs. Realizing he was grasping for nothing, he wound his arms across his chest; holding onto his shoulders as tight as he could as if he was trying to cage his soul to his body. His hands squeezed hard, inflicting pain on his own person and immediately slapped his cheeks red.

It hurts. Oh everything it ing hurts!

Then the frail man started laughing and crying in relief like a lunatic. He was awake and nothing was happening…everything was just a dream. ‘A dream. Get a grip! You’ve been dreaming for two years so just ing get a GRIP!’

No one would understand. No one could understand his fear of what’s in his mind. The truth became so hard to distinguish after losing the one sense that he relied on for his whole life. A normal person would have opened his eyes to reality; that the nightmare would disappear once you wake up. That was what he was used to until two years ago; until fate too his sight. He would always wake up to darkness and the only way he knew he was back to reality was pain: a hard grip on himself and a painful smack to his face. He wouldn’t care about a bruise…he couldn’t even see where the marks were.

Now both of his hands are cradling his head; wiping away his tears, feeling exhausted and frazzled. He took the water bottle beside his pillow and chugged the liquid down. He pushed it close and placed it on the bedside table.

The best way to know where everything is was to maintain a rout