The cost of survival

---

Johnny had always had a smile on his face as a kid, not until life stripped him of it. His loquaciousness turned into Luke warmness and Childhood memories were obscured by the recent struggles of life.

At 14 years, he was a boy. At 16, still referred to as a boy. But at 17, he became a man. Life made it that way, all within a year.

His dad drank, always inebriated and irrational. His mum? She worked her ass off, perhaps the more sensible parent, most would say. His school was just a mere reflection of his average grades, but never a place where he found solace from the incessant pain. After all, that’s what teachers were ever concerned about—grades.

On a certain day, when the sun had hidden behind the clouds and rain splattered against his rusted room window, he sat on his bed with a book—except he wasn’t reading, he was reminiscing.

“Another wasted day of my life,” he muttered.

His sister, Miriam, peeked her little head through the room door as though she had been eavesdropping.
“Why do you always say that?” she asked.

Johnny wore a faint smile, masking his true emotions from expressing themselves.

“Because it’s the truth,” he replied.

Miriam slowly paced into the room, latched onto the bunk right above him, and thrust herself upwards onto the bed. She hugged herself, snuggling under the blanket.

“Wasted is not the word, John.”

“Then what is?”

“Stressed.” She snuggled out of the sheet and looked down at Johnny, who sat in the same spot. “It’s 'stressed', John. Everyone goes through that, even the rich.”

He looked up and asked, “Do you think so?”

“I know so,” she replied.

“The stories you read to me every night, aren’t they enough to make your day?”

Johnny laughed in a soft tone.

“Well… I guess it does.”

“Well, if it doesn’t make yours, it makes mine,” Miriam replied.

For a brief moment, he felt a sense of relief—the closest form of hope he had ever felt.

But did that feeling last? For him, it was an ephemeral one, like a dopamine hit that fades within seconds.

---

Life continued its cycle. His dad’s drinking habit never changed. His mum hardly returned home early, working tooth and nail.

Johnny worked part-time as a mechanic. His hands were scarred from the bruises sustained during work, his clothes smeared with oil, almost like a design. The little proceeds assisted with bill payments and maybe food, but nothing more. His grades began declining. His teachers complained but never asked why.

“You’re starting to get lazy,” one even commented on a certain day.

“No, ma’am.” His reply was cold and blank, no soul or life attached to it.

“Just busy surviving,” he added after a long, awkward moment of silence.

The teacher looked at him in disgust, not seeing through his mere words. Of course, she soon did after she caught wind of the news that he had collapsed while at work. He had complained of a slight headache when he suddenly lost his stance, wobbled backwards, and fell with his head hitting the cemented ground.

Everyone at school made contributions for his recovery, and teachers whispered amongst themselves.

“No wonder his grades were declining.”

They put the pieces together, and it suddenly made sense as to why he seemed apathetic towards life.

When he woke up on the hospital bed, the lights from the ceiling blinded him. The sound of life-saving machines could be heard across the room.

A doctor stood right beside his bed.

“Johnny, you’ve been stressing yourself a whole lot. Your heart can’t keep up, and you have a mild traumatic brain injury from the impact of the fall.”

Johnny had his gaze fixed on the ceiling for a while, then uttered his first word.

“So… what next?”

The doctor paused.

“Just rest. We’ll do what we do best. Just rest. You’ll be fine.”

Johnny scoffed. He knew that resting wasn’t even an option.

---

Time went by as quickly as the waves on the seaside, and Johnny wasn’t getting any better. He was more silent, barely spoke a word, and even if he did, it was almost inaudible. His mum did nothing other than cry. His dad watched, helplessly. He was too ashamed to talk.

“Am I allowed to feel tired and fed up?” he asked the nurse who tended to his medications at the bedside.

Struck by the question, she paused. “Umm…”

“Just be honest. Life is too short not to be.”

She forced out a laugh.
“Well, sometimes we all are. I mean, it’s just like we’re in a constant unending loop, playing the same game over and over again.”

“You’ll be fine.”

She placed her hands softly on his head before leaving. She couldn’t afford to cry in front of him, as he stirred some deep-rooted questions in her.

---

Miriam visited that same evening.

They spoke for a while, laughed, and made memories together. Her smile slowly faded as she looked into his eyes and held his hands.

“Tell me a story, John.”

Johnny smiled. “You love stories, don’t you?”

“I don’t. I just love hearing your voice.”

He took in a slow but deep breath.

“On a cold winter evening, in a world where survival was a reason to live…”

“This world— is it Earth?” she asked, her little voice longing for an answer.

“You catch up to things quickly. Yes, it’s Earth.”

Then he went on and on to complete his story. At the end, she held his hands, and he tried to do the same but could only flicker his fingers. His strength had faded, and they all knew it.

He slowly drifted into a deep sleep. He tried fighting it but couldn’t. He felt a warm, bright air over him. It felt so refreshing, and amidst this, he had a vision of a man in a strange land—a forest with dried, flaky leaves on the floor, but without plantations.

“Who are you?” he asked.

“I’m the bridge between the two worlds, you see.”

Johnny looked around, then asked, “So where am I?”

“You’re on the journey to the other world.”

He looked behind him, and there he was—lying on the hospital bed, his sister clutching his hands and his mum embracing her.

He narrowed his eyes to watch what was happening, and it became clearer when that very same nurse unplugged the machines connected to him.

Ai image

“They’ll do just fine,” the old man said.

Johnny looked back at the man, his eyes widening, his heart racing fast against his chest.

“…Eventually,” the man added.

“Come, let me show you what you’ve been waiting for all your life.”

They both crossed a bridge and stopped at what seemed like a wall made of cloud. It extended from the floor and merged with the clouds above.

“Once we cross this portal, you’ll forget your life on Earth—your struggles, pain…” He paused. “Even your little Miriam.”

“Miriam?” His eyes widened in disbelief once again.

He thought briefly about her soft voice, the moments they shared telling stories together, even when he nursed her as a baby—a moment that brought joy to his dad, who seemed to care about someone else for the first time.

“Let’s go,” the old man said, stretching out his hands.

He knew he was about to meet peace, but what’s the essence of peace without family?

There was a deep conflict within him. He looked at the old man, then took one last glance backwards at himself on the bed and his little girl.

"thank you Dad, Mum" silence filled his lips for a moment.

"Miriam." He then said as his face transitioned into a smile, one that conveyed pity, sadness and happiness all at the same time.

Tears rolled down his face one final time.

He reached for the man’s hand as he slowly stepped into the wall, eager to see what lays beyond, and he was absorbed in its majesty.

---