He glanced briefly at the smudged colors of clouds dimming the dusky sky before lowering his gaze, halting a vibrating phone from a loose pocket of his khaki jeans—silence.
A few words is all it took...
As if fired from a starting gun, he dashed through the streets. The sky melted, pouring down in torrents. Rain mingled with his tears, a bitter-salty taste lingering on his lips—like a river meets the ocean stream. He was sobbing, lost in the downpour.
Through the hospital alleyway, he ran—soaked, breathless, stumbling over unseen obstacles. Faces blurred, indistinguishable from the rain-slicked world around him. He didn't stop. Couldn't stop.
At the end of his desperate sprint, he was met with a bitter smile, immediately twisted into hopeless sorrow. His chest tightened. His breath hitched.
"Mr. Felix?"
A voice called to him—a man in a bleached white coat, stethoscope resting behind his neck. Felix clenched his teeth, fists curling as his gaze darted toward the beeping machine at the bedside.
He stepped forward, slowly, as if the world around him had faded into nothing.
Attempting to have a coherent sentence, but, only a rasping whisper escaped.
"Wake up...
please...
you're not doing this to me now, are you?"
His voice cracked, barely audible. His hands pressed desperately against the lifeless body, pushing, pleading—no tears–yet a silent, shattering despair.
"P-please... hup! Gha~ please... please?
Please!!
Somebody!
Help!"
He kept on pummeling despite sensing the long-gone temperament of a beat. For the first time, he felt cold albeit sopping wet in the outburst of the rain. The snivels burst into cries—he kneeled while holding his own chest that kept imploding, keened over and over by a knife's edge.
"Please... you're all I have..."
A breath. A whisper. A name carried by the weight of unbearable loss.
"...Dad."
••••••
We do not stay awake to simply live; we stay awake to keep ourselves from dying. Seeking pleasure, lust, companionship…
adventure.
Ever since I was a child, the ticking of the clock has kept me from sleep. Time—the thing we most desperately seek, yet take for granted. But what if…
"I told you. YOU SHOULD CHERISH IT!"
The voice erupted with fervor. A white coat draped over his wrinkled blue shirt, sleeves shading his brown skin. Thick glasses refracted his pupils, the transparency of the lenses reflecting something beneath.
I saw myself.
"Is that your advice?" I scoffed, mockery laced in my tone.
The man frowned, adjusting his glasses before speaking in a measured voice.
"News flash."
I knew what was coming. Instinctively, I leaned back, pressing my hands to my ears.
"I'M A NEUROSCIENTIST! NOT A PSYCHIATRIST!"
His frustration was palpable, punctuated by an emphatic middle finger.
"I know, I know," I smirked, raising my hands in surrender. "Just messing with you, Dave."
He exhaled, long and weary. Most would call my condition a gift. But to me? A curse.
Dave continued, explaining my so-called 'gift' with practiced patience. As he spoke, he tidied his desk—books, pencils, and a wooden nameplate reading David Eaglesmith beside a digital clock blinking 10:40 PM.
"Anyway… You have to leave."
"Eh?"
"My wife, Linda."
"Yeah? What about her?"
"It's Sunday, Felix. I need to pick her and my daughter up for dinner. Speaking of which—when are you starting a family of your own?"
I laughed, knowing it was just a friend's teasing nudge.
"Pfft. Do I really need to answer that?"
Dave leaned in. "Well, at the very least, you need to find someone you can trust."
"I have you!" I shot back, flashing a thumbs-up.
"Ha! You bet. But seriously, you'll get hurt, disappointed... But if it's with the right person, it'll be worth it."
"Now you sound like a psychiatrist."
He chuckled. "Plus, your crest keeps reminding everyone you're too old to be single."
That one stung. I turned to the window, my reflection barely visible in its dim silhouette. Starless eyes, a small, pointed nose, a fair-brown complexion, a jawline too sharp from skipping meals.
Average.
"It's not that wide, is it? There's no universal standard, after all."
I tapped my forehead, tracing a barely noticeable mole in the corner.
"Oh look, I see baby hair sprouting! Kekeke~"
We exchanged jabs and light punches, playfully dodging each other's swipes. Then, the laughter faded.
Thug.
A fist bump. A silent farewell.
"Felix…" Dave's voice softened, his eyes searching mine. "You sure you alright?"
"Is it that obvious? Well… If things aren't okay, that just means it's not the end. So I always try to be alright." Lies.
Dave placed a reassuring hand on my shoulder, smiling as he opened the door.
"If you say so."
"It's been 2 years. Thanks, Dave."
"yeah…, but it's not free, you know."
"Frappe and chips?"
"Frappe and chips, it is."
The city at midnight. Through the thick glass walls of Caffè La Bibiana, queues formed—people gathering their belongings from the cashier's counter. The symphony of a bustling café: the screech of shifting metal chairs, the murmur of idle conversations, the occasional shuffle of footsteps.
"Hi! Welcome to Caffè La Bibiana. May I take your order?"
A congregation of strangers, all doing the same thing but with different thoughts, pursuits, and lives.
Felix ordered a macchiato and stepped outside, the door chime ringing in his ears, blending with the rhythmic patter of drizzle on pavement. He gazed at the sky.
"The night's familiar… I like it." Lies.
[Brzzz kreeek]
A faint, constant crackle. The distinct hum of static electricity. A disturbance in the air—warped and shifting like a ripple in space.
Without hesitation, Felix reached out, gloved fingers grazing the anomaly.
And was pulled in.
"What the heck…?"
He landed hard, stunned but unhurt. As he scrambled to his feet, his eyes adjusted to the scene before him.
Two men. Aggressive gestures. A third person—motionless on the ground. A robbery.
A passerby hesitated, torn between fear and intervention. The assailants, however, showed no intention of stopping.
"Hey… HEY!"
They turned at the outburst, eyes dark with irritation.
"Who the fook is this guy?" one spat, clenching his fists.
Before he could advance, the other held out a hand, stopping him.
"Your name?"
Felix hesitated. "Felix… is definitely not my name." Stupid.
"Ha. Of course."
"What's funny?"
"Nothing. I just find it amusing how people let themselves get distracted by things that don't align with their goals."
The man's voice dropped into a sinister undertone, his movements deliberate as he paced.
"You fail, you get up, you try again… But sometimes? Sometimes failure means—"
Death...
A whisper. A blur of movement. The high-pitched whistle of something slicing through the air—aimed at Felix's throat.
••••••
Moments ago… [10:29 PM]
The clock ticked past 29.
"Dynamic visual acuity. Also known as 'Akinetopsia.'"
Felix groaned. "Lame."
Dave, undeterred, continued. "It's a rare condition where the brain captures only a fraction of images per second. A person with it perceives motion in a slow, staggered sequence."
He raised a blue marker to his eye, turning his back before abruptly spinning back around.
"However!" He grinned. "Your case is different. Your brain perceives motion in a hyper-slowed perspective—without missing a single frame."
With no warning, he hurled the marker at Felix's face.
Without flinching, Felix caught it mid-air, perfectly threading his ring finger through the tip.
Poker face.
Dave smirked. "But light moves too fast for the brain to react to, which means…"
He rolled out an image of the spectrum.
"It forces the mind to shift into the realm of infrared."
••••••
Present…
Everything slowed. Breaths became visible, vapor curling in the air. Veins glowed faintly under his skin, his vision shifting into an infrared spectrum—blues melting into deep tangerines and burning reds.
As if time no longer existed.
Too slow…