REVOLUTIONIST, walker duvall
posted May 29, 2019 11:01:34 GMT -6
LEAP and DERA SKEATES like this
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[attr="class","omapponetop2"]revolution calling
[attr="class","omapponetop1"]FILES LOCATED UNDER
WALKER DUVALL
WALKER DUVALL
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WALKER DUVALL
LOOKS LIKE HIGEKIRI FROM TOUKEN RANBU
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FILE NAVIGATION
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ABOUT WALKER
ABOUT WALKER
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Doc, Doctor
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Doc, Doctor
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32 YEARS OLD
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32 YEARS OLD
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NONBINARY
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NONBINARY
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HE/HIM THEY/THEM
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HE/HIM THEY/THEM
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BISEXUAL
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BISEXUAL
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BIROMANTIC
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BIROMANTIC
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COMPLICATED
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COMPLICATED
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APRIL 22
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APRIL 22
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TAURUS
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TAURUS
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PROFESSOR / MEDIC
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PROFESSOR / MEDIC
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RECENT STATUS
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Do not go gentle into that good night. Rage, rage against the dying of the light.
Do not go gentle into that good night. Rage, rage against the dying of the light.
[attr="class","omapponepersonality1"]SUBJECT TEMPERAMENT
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Walker DuVall occupies the space between tragedies. The loss of a close friend (Norah), a child (Elijah), of (himself). One death after another, his own looming on the horizon. He counts his days, despairing at the futility of it all. Bitter at the system that has scorned them all, they without money, without status, with nothing but their dreams and their lives. He is a walking expiration date, of pity piled high onto his shoulders, a burden he never asked for. Hospital records long enough to fill a binder bursting, people are at a loss of words, forced smiles, stammered comfort (he doesn't want it) and sympathies (they don't mean it). He bites his tongue, kills the sharp words on his lips, and he smiles and forces his gratitude. But only this time. Next time, he will not hold back. Those who offer their sympathies (pities) and then turn and run away, for fear he might be contagious, for thought that he isn't worth the time, he scorns them with violent rage.[break][break]
Walker DuVall has built his home between tragedies. His own death imminent, sooner rather than later, he can count his friends on half a hand. No one wants to befriend a dead man walking, except a man equally defined by grief and another who can't hold a memory. Because of them, the unmoving supports they are, he is: Soft, golden light, warm on the skin, warm in the heart. Debts always repaid, hard work, and integrity. The simplest of genuine and kind gestures is all it takes for him to weep. An aching heart that yearns for the warmth of others, of hands to hold, and mouths to assure him in honesty: You will die, and that's okay, because I will be here all the way.
Walker DuVall occupies the space between tragedies. The loss of a close friend (Norah), a child (Elijah), of (himself). One death after another, his own looming on the horizon. He counts his days, despairing at the futility of it all. Bitter at the system that has scorned them all, they without money, without status, with nothing but their dreams and their lives. He is a walking expiration date, of pity piled high onto his shoulders, a burden he never asked for. Hospital records long enough to fill a binder bursting, people are at a loss of words, forced smiles, stammered comfort (he doesn't want it) and sympathies (they don't mean it). He bites his tongue, kills the sharp words on his lips, and he smiles and forces his gratitude. But only this time. Next time, he will not hold back. Those who offer their sympathies (pities) and then turn and run away, for fear he might be contagious, for thought that he isn't worth the time, he scorns them with violent rage.[break][break]
Walker DuVall has built his home between tragedies. His own death imminent, sooner rather than later, he can count his friends on half a hand. No one wants to befriend a dead man walking, except a man equally defined by grief and another who can't hold a memory. Because of them, the unmoving supports they are, he is: Soft, golden light, warm on the skin, warm in the heart. Debts always repaid, hard work, and integrity. The simplest of genuine and kind gestures is all it takes for him to weep. An aching heart that yearns for the warmth of others, of hands to hold, and mouths to assure him in honesty: You will die, and that's okay, because I will be here all the way.
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[attr="class","omapponetabs2"]MISCELLANEOUS
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MISCELLANEOUS INFO
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- Friends with Doctor X since college[break]
- Terminally ill[break]
- Sometimes walks with the assistance of a cane[break]
- Not a real medic, no medical degree[break]
- Manufactures medicine and drugs for the Revolution. Brought on largely to help the Revolutionists with the cure for the Strain. (Event: Spreading the Disease.)[break]
- Was close to Doctor X's son before he died. He helped him cope with his terminal illness.[break][break]
- Chronic fatigue/weakness[break]
- Frequent headaches[break]
- Frequent fevers and chills[break]
- Joint pain[break]
- Shortness of breath[break]
- Friends with Doctor X since college[break]
- Terminally ill[break]
- Sometimes walks with the assistance of a cane[break]
- Not a real medic, no medical degree[break]
- Manufactures medicine and drugs for the Revolution. Brought on largely to help the Revolutionists with the cure for the Strain. (Event: Spreading the Disease.)[break]
- Was close to Doctor X's son before he died. He helped him cope with his terminal illness.[break][break]
Symptoms
[break]- Chronic fatigue/weakness[break]
- Frequent headaches[break]
- Frequent fevers and chills[break]
- Joint pain[break]
- Shortness of breath[break]
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+Birds
+Hiking
+Flowers
+Gardening
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-Pity
-Winter, the cold
-Rain
-Dogs
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[attr="class","omapponetabs3"]SUBJECT BIOGRAPHY
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You meet them in college. A boisterous laugh and eyes that sparkle, █████████ █████ is a man who shoots for the stars and never settles for anything less. Norah █████ is ambition and power, warm smiles, loving hands, always going above and beyond. They are hearts that feel so much and love so much. They are your best friends and you consider yourself blessed to know them. You count them family and quietly you promise that for them you would do anything. Days with them are defined by long nights spent studying in the dorms, snacks and beer like islands among the sea of papers, pencils, and highlighters. They are Sunday brunch (no rainchecks), Friday movies, and drinks at the end of each semester.[break][break]
They're the ones who have you rushed to the hospital when you suddenly collapse on the way to class. They're not there when you wake up, though. For that you are grateful. Your parents visit and the doctors tell them once and you tell them the second time. They sit and they weep, holding your hands tight in theirs. Somehow, you can't find your own tears. It doesn't feel quite real and all you can think of is how awful of a son you are to do this to your own parents. They urge you home from school, but you force a refusal. You can't drop out of school, you insist, you've come so far. And what's the point of waiting to die? They visit every day, though, but ████ and Norah can't. Family only, the hospital says. You ask your parents to not tell them. You'll do it yourself.[break][break]
████ and Norah sit across the small table in your dorm. They can guess, what with the way of meeting and the dark look on your hands, but their guesses will always fall short. Your hands shake as badly as your voice and your planned speech dies in your mouth. "It's terminal." You choke, "I'm dying." They expected you to be sick, but they expected it to be treatable. The worst they had prepared for was you dropping out. This? They'd never expected this. At once, they reach for you and hold you tight with apologies and sympathies. It is in their warmth that it suddenly feels real. You break down and you cry.[break][break]
But you're not the first to go.[break][break]
You stand, shocked, stunned still, in front of her casket. Norah lies there, skin made warm by makeup applied by the practiced hand of the mortician, eyes closed, hands folded neat on her chest. She looks like she's sleeping and that just makes it worse. Just the other day you held them in yours. Not warm enough even then, too thin even then. You had no idea. No one told you. No one told you she was sick.[break][break]
"Why!" That night you shout, words warped by your tears and your sobs, "Why didn't you tell me!" ████ sits on the sofa with his head in his hands. He is tired, worn to the bones by grief, by the responsibilities of it all. His voice is just as tired, as broken, but there is no anger, no resentment towards your raised voice.[break][break]
"She didn't want to worry you. She didn't want you to look at her any different." He doesn't look up, he speaks to the floor, "She only told her parents and me. She wanted you to keep smiling." But how can you smile now? How can you do anything but rage and cry? It hurts, but you understand, it's just like her to not tell you. ████ didn't explain explicitly that she didn't want to be a reminder of your own death. He didn't need to. You already knew. If you had known, she was right, you couldn't have smiled at her the same. You would be reminded of her death coming too quickly, of yours. [break][break]
Neither of you are the same after her passing, but the grief binds you together. The days are quieter. You still have brunch, but it's on Saturdays now, and both of you say you don't have the time for movies on Fridays anymore. You pour yourself into your studies and ████ splits his time between school and his son, Elijah. The kid, you're sure, is the only reason ████ keeps smiling, you're sure. Between your own declining health and classes you find yourself short on time, but what little you have is spent helping ████ with Elijah.[break][break]
You don't recognize this ceiling, but between the stark white and the smell of cleaner, you can guess where you are. You take stock of yourself before you try to sit up. You can move with reasonable ease and aside from the standard medical equipment attached to you there's little you have to be worried about pulling. No stitches or staples, no massive bruising, or other injuries. You sit up enough to find the bed controls and then prop yourself up using it.[break][break]
A nurse walks by, then backtracks to your room. "Oh, you're awake!" She must not be too busy because she steps in and grabs your chart. From her familiarity with it, you take it that she's assigned to you. "You've been asleep for a day, Mister DuVall. We were worried you were going to fall into a coma." She smiles at you, but you can't find the energy to return it. "You had a heart attack. And then your heart stopped in the ambulance. You're lucky to be alive." She says it with such cheer, like it is some blessed miracle, but all you can think is why. Why are you still alive? Why didn't it kill you? Why did they resuscitate you? What's the point of it all, this illness is going to kill you anyway, so why not sooner rather than later. Perhaps the nurse senses your feelings, because her smile wavers and she pulls out a few papers clipped under the chart. "I know it's hard." 'Know you don't,' You think, but you let her continue. "But medicine is an ongoing field. There are clinical trials. They don't cost to participate. I pulled out some nearby trials researching treatment for your condition. I'll leave them here for you to look at." She sets them on a little table attached to the bed, but you don't look at them.[break][break]
████ sits at your bedside. He brought the notes and assignments for the classes you missed. They're sitting on top of the clinical trial papers from before.[break][break]
"You can't give up." He wants you to say that you know, that you won't, but you don't. [break][break]
"Why not?" You say and he looks like you've stabbed him in the chest. You can't look at him. [break][break]
"Because Elijah's sick and if he sees you give up, I'm worried—" He's fraying at the edges, despair in every syllable, and he can't voice the words of his concern, scared that saying it might make it happen.[break][break]
"What?! He's sick?!" You snap around so hard it hurts, but the pain is the least of your worries, "Why do you say it like that? No, no, ████, no. Tell me—"[break][break]
"There's an experimental treatment," He quickly assures, but it sounds like he's trying to assure himself as well, "but it's expensive. I don't have the money for it and the insurance won't cover it. I'll have to try to pull out a loan."[break][break]
"████ whatever you need, I'll—"[break][break]
"I need you to stay alive, Walker. You have to stay with us." He pleads, he begs. He's lost his wife already and both his best friend and his son are dying. His entire world is coming apart in his hands.[break][break]
"Okay, for the both of you, I promise." He gives your hand a squeeze and you find other things to talk about.[break][break]
You find yourself here again too early. A child lies serenely in the casket in front of you and you are disgusted by it all. Where sorrow sat before now blazed rage and you would learn that ████ was the same. In front of the small number of others who attend the funeral, his face was schooled with mastery you didn't realize he had. But, that night, when it's just the two of you, he burns brighter than the sun. It was preventable. If only he'd had the money a little sooner! If the bank hadn't denied his requests, if he hadn't had to scrounge up every penny he earned, perhaps Elijah would still be alive! But no, it's your money or your life, and even children aren't exempt. You spend the night, the week, the month, angry. Angry at the hospital, at the clinical trials, the banks, all of it and everyone. You shut yourself out, you don't even walk at your own graduation. Your diploma, a doctorate in chemistry, arrives in the mail and you throw it to the ground. What use is it! What's the point of it all! Norah, Elijah, two of the people you loved more than the world itself dead, because they couldn't afford the treatments. Because they didn't have the money. ████ tried to sue the hospital, but he lost the case. It's only ever about the money.[break][break]
You had gone to school to learn how to make medicine, but now? What's the point when whatever you made would only save the rich? But you've got this degree, and you've got this debt, and this one life to live. You promised ████ you'd live for the both of them, but now it's just him. You'll keep your promise, though. You always do.[break][break]
"Good morning, I'm Doctor DuVall." You stand in front of more students than you'd care to count. A chalkboard spans almost the entire wall behind you. "I'll be your professor for this class. Let me lay down some ground work." You explain your policies for class and you explain that there will be days where you will not be there, but you assure that an upperclassman will continue class in your place. You watch your students attentively, trying to pick out who to watch out for and who might need help. One student in particular catches your eyes.[break][break]
"Mister Parks, if you have a moment, can we talk?" You catch him before he leaves at the end of class some week later, "You seem to be struggling to keep up. Is the material too difficult?"[break][break]
He stammers and fumbles over his words in half an explanation before his eyes suddenly lose focus and then refocus. "I'm— What were we talking about?" He flinches at the face you've unknowingly made, "I'm sorry I have anterograde amnesia. I can't make new memories." That must be difficult, you think. Class must be difficult because of it.[break][break]
"That's okay, I'll keep that in mind. I'll print out all the notes for you from now on. Will that help?"[break][break]
"It will, thank you."[break][break]
You spend more and more time with Daniel Parks. It starts with helping him with your class, but then you're helping him with his other classes, too. You dust off old textbooks and refresh yourself, for him, just for him. You don't think on it at first. It's been a long time since you've
made a friend, you figure. He's easy to talk to, despite his memory problems, and you're patient with him. You don't think much of it. That is until he remembers.[break][break]
"You know, I can't make new memories, but somehow, I remember you." He burns like the stars in the night, "I forget everything else. The lessons, the classes from this morning, what I ate for breakfast, lunch, but you— I remember you." You flinch back from the way your heart thuds in your chest like a drum. "Doctor, are you okay?! You're crying!" Are you? Ah, so you are. You laugh to hide your embarrassment as you quickly wipe your face.[break][break]
"I'm fine, Daniel. I'm very happy for you." And you are. You haven't been this happy in years. For the first time in so long, you start to look forward to the next day. With him, you realize. "Do you, uh, want to grab dinner tonight? To celebrate. My treat." [break][break]
"Are you asking me out, Doctor?" You're too embarrassed to answer, so you laugh awkwardly. He smiles, bright, blinding. "I'd love to."[break][break]
After dinner, you tell him. You tell him about your illness, about how you don't know how long you'll live, how each day could be your last. You assure him that you're participating in clinical trials, holding onto hope. He just smiles and he holds your hand. "I'll be here." He assures and you fight back the tears while he laughs. [break][break]
The clinical trials fail one after another and you've spent all your money bouncing from one to another like a skipping stone. Until one doesn't. For the first time, you have hope, but you should've known better. Norah and Elijah taught you better. After but a taste, you are crushed under the harsh reality of medical care and capitalism. The treatment now shown to work, the study comes to an end as does your supply. They slap on it a name and a price and under the weight of hope more than twice your salary, you despair. You will die for the same reason that Norah and Elijah did. Money. In the end, it's your money or your life.[break][break]
The bank denies your loan and your insurance refuses to cover it. So, you guess it's your life.[break][break]
In anger, in rage and despair, you leave. Without a word to anyone, you gather your things and you leave Seattle in the night. You don't want to be here anymore. Not among all the ghosts of Norah and Elijah, of a life you'll never live, hope none of you could ever afford. You think of Daniel, but you tell yourself it's for the best. He deserves someone who won't die young. You think of ████, but what are you but a reminder of what he's lost? How come you've lived this long, but they didn't get it? You manufacture their resentment for you to justify your cowardice. You're too scared to say you're scared. Too scared to ask for help, to truly accept that you're going to die. This whole time, it felt like something that would happen tomorrow, later, eventually. Now it feels that it'll happen today. Each step is terrifying. Each step is agonizing. You give up. You break your promise and resign yourself to despair. You're tired, you're done.[break][break]
It took the rest of your savings, but you rent a place in rural Wyoming. You have a beautiful view of the mountains. You make enough money for rent and food by helping the local doctor and teaching at the local high school. It's a small town where everyone knows everyone and secrets aren't kept at all. When they ask you why you moved out to the sticks, you tell them the truth. Your landlady leaves fruit on your doorstep. The students ask you to teach them how to garden. The diner owner gives you dessert for free.[break][break]
It's a good place to die.[break][break]
████ tracks you down. You don't know how, but he does. He calls you in the late morning and his voice is at once familiar and foreign. A memory you'd hoped to forget. His voice is cold, a mere ghost of what it was before. He speaks firm and with power, but to you he sounds tired and angry. He sounds ready to do something. You wish you had his strength, but you wonder, why is he calling you out of the blue and just asking how you're doing? What's with this small talk like old friends catching up? This isn't like him. Your friendship demanded he be angry with you, he should be shouting, or perhaps threatening you. Not this, whatever it was. [break][break]
"Quit with the games. What do you, ████?"[break][break]
"I want to talk to you in person."[break][break]
"I'm barely able to feed myself, what makes you think I can fly out—"[break][break]
"Whoever said anything about flying? Meet me at the diner. You know the one. It's the only one in this tiny town." You can hear him smile on the other end, "I'll buy you whatever you want."[break][break]
What is he, a stalker? Were it anyone else, you would be repulsed, scared, even, but it's ████. He's like a brother to you. To hear his voice again, for him to have come all the way out to here, you want to cry. You never thought anyone cared enough to try to find you. You never realized until now how lonely you were. And how terrible of a friend you are. [break][break]
████ looks like a different person, but grief and betrayal will do that to a man. You don't know what to say. You shrink under the weight of his gaze. Was he always this intense? Did he always command such power?[break][break]
"I want you to come back to Seattle." He breaks the silence you refuse to.[break][break]
"Why?" You ask, you whine, unable to hold your composure, "Why are you here? I left Seattle, I left you. I broke my promise, I came here to die. Why aren't you angry with me?" You cry into your hands, hiding your face as if he hasn't seen you weep a dozen times before.[break][break]
"Because you're my friend, Walker." And you can't stand to hear him say it after you left Seattle like that, but he pins you to your seat under the weight of his unwavering gaze. "You participated in a study a couple years ago, right? It showed promise."[break][break]
You laugh, bitter and angry. "Yeah, but it's more than I could ever afford."[break][break]
"I'll pay for it." He says it like it's nothing.[break][break]
"Excuse me?" You can't believe his words. How? Where did he get the money? And why? To save him to make up for the wife and son he couldn't?[break][break]
"I'll pay for it." He leans in, "But you have to come back to Seattle with me." And he explains, in quiet hushed tones, what he's been doing for the past few years, what he's doing now. It's grand, it's ambitious, it's downright crazy. It terrifies you, but what do you have to lose? Your life? You've already lost that. "So, will you do this for me?"[break][break]
"God, you don't have to bribe me." You laugh through your tears, "From the beginning, for you, I'd do anything. All you had to do was ask."
[break][break]
Seattle. You were happy with the idea of never setting foot back here again. It's changed since you left, but the ghosts are still the same. The weight of people lost and of the things you've done. There's work to do, though. You reach out to the university you'd suddenly left and by some miracle they grant you back your old position. (Did ████ have a hand in this?) You reach back out to Daniel Parks who grants you the time of day. (He definitely didn't have a hand in this.) You get to work rebuilding your life under the banner of revolution.[break][break]
You remember, now, what it feels like to be alive.
I. 2003
You meet them in college. A boisterous laugh and eyes that sparkle, █████████ █████ is a man who shoots for the stars and never settles for anything less. Norah █████ is ambition and power, warm smiles, loving hands, always going above and beyond. They are hearts that feel so much and love so much. They are your best friends and you consider yourself blessed to know them. You count them family and quietly you promise that for them you would do anything. Days with them are defined by long nights spent studying in the dorms, snacks and beer like islands among the sea of papers, pencils, and highlighters. They are Sunday brunch (no rainchecks), Friday movies, and drinks at the end of each semester.[break][break]
They're the ones who have you rushed to the hospital when you suddenly collapse on the way to class. They're not there when you wake up, though. For that you are grateful. Your parents visit and the doctors tell them once and you tell them the second time. They sit and they weep, holding your hands tight in theirs. Somehow, you can't find your own tears. It doesn't feel quite real and all you can think of is how awful of a son you are to do this to your own parents. They urge you home from school, but you force a refusal. You can't drop out of school, you insist, you've come so far. And what's the point of waiting to die? They visit every day, though, but ████ and Norah can't. Family only, the hospital says. You ask your parents to not tell them. You'll do it yourself.[break][break]
████ and Norah sit across the small table in your dorm. They can guess, what with the way of meeting and the dark look on your hands, but their guesses will always fall short. Your hands shake as badly as your voice and your planned speech dies in your mouth. "It's terminal." You choke, "I'm dying." They expected you to be sick, but they expected it to be treatable. The worst they had prepared for was you dropping out. This? They'd never expected this. At once, they reach for you and hold you tight with apologies and sympathies. It is in their warmth that it suddenly feels real. You break down and you cry.[break][break]
But you're not the first to go.[break][break]
II. 2008
You stand, shocked, stunned still, in front of her casket. Norah lies there, skin made warm by makeup applied by the practiced hand of the mortician, eyes closed, hands folded neat on her chest. She looks like she's sleeping and that just makes it worse. Just the other day you held them in yours. Not warm enough even then, too thin even then. You had no idea. No one told you. No one told you she was sick.[break][break]
"Why!" That night you shout, words warped by your tears and your sobs, "Why didn't you tell me!" ████ sits on the sofa with his head in his hands. He is tired, worn to the bones by grief, by the responsibilities of it all. His voice is just as tired, as broken, but there is no anger, no resentment towards your raised voice.[break][break]
"She didn't want to worry you. She didn't want you to look at her any different." He doesn't look up, he speaks to the floor, "She only told her parents and me. She wanted you to keep smiling." But how can you smile now? How can you do anything but rage and cry? It hurts, but you understand, it's just like her to not tell you. ████ didn't explain explicitly that she didn't want to be a reminder of your own death. He didn't need to. You already knew. If you had known, she was right, you couldn't have smiled at her the same. You would be reminded of her death coming too quickly, of yours. [break][break]
Neither of you are the same after her passing, but the grief binds you together. The days are quieter. You still have brunch, but it's on Saturdays now, and both of you say you don't have the time for movies on Fridays anymore. You pour yourself into your studies and ████ splits his time between school and his son, Elijah. The kid, you're sure, is the only reason ████ keeps smiling, you're sure. Between your own declining health and classes you find yourself short on time, but what little you have is spent helping ████ with Elijah.[break][break]
( "Uncle, are you okay?" )[break][break]
[break][break]( "Elijah, go get your daddy." )
III. 2010
You don't recognize this ceiling, but between the stark white and the smell of cleaner, you can guess where you are. You take stock of yourself before you try to sit up. You can move with reasonable ease and aside from the standard medical equipment attached to you there's little you have to be worried about pulling. No stitches or staples, no massive bruising, or other injuries. You sit up enough to find the bed controls and then prop yourself up using it.[break][break]
A nurse walks by, then backtracks to your room. "Oh, you're awake!" She must not be too busy because she steps in and grabs your chart. From her familiarity with it, you take it that she's assigned to you. "You've been asleep for a day, Mister DuVall. We were worried you were going to fall into a coma." She smiles at you, but you can't find the energy to return it. "You had a heart attack. And then your heart stopped in the ambulance. You're lucky to be alive." She says it with such cheer, like it is some blessed miracle, but all you can think is why. Why are you still alive? Why didn't it kill you? Why did they resuscitate you? What's the point of it all, this illness is going to kill you anyway, so why not sooner rather than later. Perhaps the nurse senses your feelings, because her smile wavers and she pulls out a few papers clipped under the chart. "I know it's hard." 'Know you don't,' You think, but you let her continue. "But medicine is an ongoing field. There are clinical trials. They don't cost to participate. I pulled out some nearby trials researching treatment for your condition. I'll leave them here for you to look at." She sets them on a little table attached to the bed, but you don't look at them.[break][break]
IV. 2010
████ sits at your bedside. He brought the notes and assignments for the classes you missed. They're sitting on top of the clinical trial papers from before.[break][break]
"You can't give up." He wants you to say that you know, that you won't, but you don't. [break][break]
"Why not?" You say and he looks like you've stabbed him in the chest. You can't look at him. [break][break]
"Because Elijah's sick and if he sees you give up, I'm worried—" He's fraying at the edges, despair in every syllable, and he can't voice the words of his concern, scared that saying it might make it happen.[break][break]
"What?! He's sick?!" You snap around so hard it hurts, but the pain is the least of your worries, "Why do you say it like that? No, no, ████, no. Tell me—"[break][break]
"There's an experimental treatment," He quickly assures, but it sounds like he's trying to assure himself as well, "but it's expensive. I don't have the money for it and the insurance won't cover it. I'll have to try to pull out a loan."[break][break]
"████ whatever you need, I'll—"[break][break]
"I need you to stay alive, Walker. You have to stay with us." He pleads, he begs. He's lost his wife already and both his best friend and his son are dying. His entire world is coming apart in his hands.[break][break]
"Okay, for the both of you, I promise." He gives your hand a squeeze and you find other things to talk about.[break][break]
V. 2013
You find yourself here again too early. A child lies serenely in the casket in front of you and you are disgusted by it all. Where sorrow sat before now blazed rage and you would learn that ████ was the same. In front of the small number of others who attend the funeral, his face was schooled with mastery you didn't realize he had. But, that night, when it's just the two of you, he burns brighter than the sun. It was preventable. If only he'd had the money a little sooner! If the bank hadn't denied his requests, if he hadn't had to scrounge up every penny he earned, perhaps Elijah would still be alive! But no, it's your money or your life, and even children aren't exempt. You spend the night, the week, the month, angry. Angry at the hospital, at the clinical trials, the banks, all of it and everyone. You shut yourself out, you don't even walk at your own graduation. Your diploma, a doctorate in chemistry, arrives in the mail and you throw it to the ground. What use is it! What's the point of it all! Norah, Elijah, two of the people you loved more than the world itself dead, because they couldn't afford the treatments. Because they didn't have the money. ████ tried to sue the hospital, but he lost the case. It's only ever about the money.[break][break]
You had gone to school to learn how to make medicine, but now? What's the point when whatever you made would only save the rich? But you've got this degree, and you've got this debt, and this one life to live. You promised ████ you'd live for the both of them, but now it's just him. You'll keep your promise, though. You always do.[break][break]
VI. 2014
"Good morning, I'm Doctor DuVall." You stand in front of more students than you'd care to count. A chalkboard spans almost the entire wall behind you. "I'll be your professor for this class. Let me lay down some ground work." You explain your policies for class and you explain that there will be days where you will not be there, but you assure that an upperclassman will continue class in your place. You watch your students attentively, trying to pick out who to watch out for and who might need help. One student in particular catches your eyes.[break][break]
"Mister Parks, if you have a moment, can we talk?" You catch him before he leaves at the end of class some week later, "You seem to be struggling to keep up. Is the material too difficult?"[break][break]
He stammers and fumbles over his words in half an explanation before his eyes suddenly lose focus and then refocus. "I'm— What were we talking about?" He flinches at the face you've unknowingly made, "I'm sorry I have anterograde amnesia. I can't make new memories." That must be difficult, you think. Class must be difficult because of it.[break][break]
"That's okay, I'll keep that in mind. I'll print out all the notes for you from now on. Will that help?"[break][break]
"It will, thank you."[break][break]
You spend more and more time with Daniel Parks. It starts with helping him with your class, but then you're helping him with his other classes, too. You dust off old textbooks and refresh yourself, for him, just for him. You don't think on it at first. It's been a long time since you've
made a friend, you figure. He's easy to talk to, despite his memory problems, and you're patient with him. You don't think much of it. That is until he remembers.[break][break]
"You know, I can't make new memories, but somehow, I remember you." He burns like the stars in the night, "I forget everything else. The lessons, the classes from this morning, what I ate for breakfast, lunch, but you— I remember you." You flinch back from the way your heart thuds in your chest like a drum. "Doctor, are you okay?! You're crying!" Are you? Ah, so you are. You laugh to hide your embarrassment as you quickly wipe your face.[break][break]
"I'm fine, Daniel. I'm very happy for you." And you are. You haven't been this happy in years. For the first time in so long, you start to look forward to the next day. With him, you realize. "Do you, uh, want to grab dinner tonight? To celebrate. My treat." [break][break]
"Are you asking me out, Doctor?" You're too embarrassed to answer, so you laugh awkwardly. He smiles, bright, blinding. "I'd love to."[break][break]
After dinner, you tell him. You tell him about your illness, about how you don't know how long you'll live, how each day could be your last. You assure him that you're participating in clinical trials, holding onto hope. He just smiles and he holds your hand. "I'll be here." He assures and you fight back the tears while he laughs. [break][break]
VII. 2016
The clinical trials fail one after another and you've spent all your money bouncing from one to another like a skipping stone. Until one doesn't. For the first time, you have hope, but you should've known better. Norah and Elijah taught you better. After but a taste, you are crushed under the harsh reality of medical care and capitalism. The treatment now shown to work, the study comes to an end as does your supply. They slap on it a name and a price and under the weight of hope more than twice your salary, you despair. You will die for the same reason that Norah and Elijah did. Money. In the end, it's your money or your life.[break][break]
The bank denies your loan and your insurance refuses to cover it. So, you guess it's your life.[break][break]
In anger, in rage and despair, you leave. Without a word to anyone, you gather your things and you leave Seattle in the night. You don't want to be here anymore. Not among all the ghosts of Norah and Elijah, of a life you'll never live, hope none of you could ever afford. You think of Daniel, but you tell yourself it's for the best. He deserves someone who won't die young. You think of ████, but what are you but a reminder of what he's lost? How come you've lived this long, but they didn't get it? You manufacture their resentment for you to justify your cowardice. You're too scared to say you're scared. Too scared to ask for help, to truly accept that you're going to die. This whole time, it felt like something that would happen tomorrow, later, eventually. Now it feels that it'll happen today. Each step is terrifying. Each step is agonizing. You give up. You break your promise and resign yourself to despair. You're tired, you're done.[break][break]
It took the rest of your savings, but you rent a place in rural Wyoming. You have a beautiful view of the mountains. You make enough money for rent and food by helping the local doctor and teaching at the local high school. It's a small town where everyone knows everyone and secrets aren't kept at all. When they ask you why you moved out to the sticks, you tell them the truth. Your landlady leaves fruit on your doorstep. The students ask you to teach them how to garden. The diner owner gives you dessert for free.[break][break]
It's a good place to die.[break][break]
VIII. 2018
████ tracks you down. You don't know how, but he does. He calls you in the late morning and his voice is at once familiar and foreign. A memory you'd hoped to forget. His voice is cold, a mere ghost of what it was before. He speaks firm and with power, but to you he sounds tired and angry. He sounds ready to do something. You wish you had his strength, but you wonder, why is he calling you out of the blue and just asking how you're doing? What's with this small talk like old friends catching up? This isn't like him. Your friendship demanded he be angry with you, he should be shouting, or perhaps threatening you. Not this, whatever it was. [break][break]
"Quit with the games. What do you, ████?"[break][break]
"I want to talk to you in person."[break][break]
"I'm barely able to feed myself, what makes you think I can fly out—"[break][break]
"Whoever said anything about flying? Meet me at the diner. You know the one. It's the only one in this tiny town." You can hear him smile on the other end, "I'll buy you whatever you want."[break][break]
What is he, a stalker? Were it anyone else, you would be repulsed, scared, even, but it's ████. He's like a brother to you. To hear his voice again, for him to have come all the way out to here, you want to cry. You never thought anyone cared enough to try to find you. You never realized until now how lonely you were. And how terrible of a friend you are. [break][break]
IX. 2018
████ looks like a different person, but grief and betrayal will do that to a man. You don't know what to say. You shrink under the weight of his gaze. Was he always this intense? Did he always command such power?[break][break]
"I want you to come back to Seattle." He breaks the silence you refuse to.[break][break]
"Why?" You ask, you whine, unable to hold your composure, "Why are you here? I left Seattle, I left you. I broke my promise, I came here to die. Why aren't you angry with me?" You cry into your hands, hiding your face as if he hasn't seen you weep a dozen times before.[break][break]
"Because you're my friend, Walker." And you can't stand to hear him say it after you left Seattle like that, but he pins you to your seat under the weight of his unwavering gaze. "You participated in a study a couple years ago, right? It showed promise."[break][break]
You laugh, bitter and angry. "Yeah, but it's more than I could ever afford."[break][break]
"I'll pay for it." He says it like it's nothing.[break][break]
"Excuse me?" You can't believe his words. How? Where did he get the money? And why? To save him to make up for the wife and son he couldn't?[break][break]
"I'll pay for it." He leans in, "But you have to come back to Seattle with me." And he explains, in quiet hushed tones, what he's been doing for the past few years, what he's doing now. It's grand, it's ambitious, it's downright crazy. It terrifies you, but what do you have to lose? Your life? You've already lost that. "So, will you do this for me?"[break][break]
"God, you don't have to bribe me." You laugh through your tears, "From the beginning, for you, I'd do anything. All you had to do was ask."
[break][break]
X. 2018
Seattle. You were happy with the idea of never setting foot back here again. It's changed since you left, but the ghosts are still the same. The weight of people lost and of the things you've done. There's work to do, though. You reach out to the university you'd suddenly left and by some miracle they grant you back your old position. (Did ████ have a hand in this?) You reach back out to Daniel Parks who grants you the time of day. (He definitely didn't have a hand in this.) You get to work rebuilding your life under the banner of revolution.[break][break]
You remember, now, what it feels like to be alive.
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