Hope

June 8th

Diagnosed (as of today): 148

Deaths (as of today): 56

Total Diagnosed: 892

Total deaths: 401

His incisors had been extracted earlier than usual to prevent further root canal pains. The doctors had given him a prescription of hourly injections; he was to self-inject two types of medication three times a day, spacing the injections out for at least fifteen minutes apart.

It was day one after Asher's diagnosis. He spent his days lying in bed. Constance would come once in a while to deliver his meals, but then she'd leave the room immediately. He knew that she wasn't afraid of the disease being infectious, but needed time to pull together her composure in front of her husband everytime she entered his room. The shock she felt when she heard the news that her own husband had been confirmed positive for this disease still wavered in all directions around her. Occasionally, he'd look into her puffy red eyes and wished he could take away all of the sadness piled up inside her. But there was nothing to do. He felt helpless as he counted the little time he had left; the longest surviving patients had only lasted a total of seven days.

The toothache Asher felt along his jawline would return every once in a while. It recalled his memories of going to the dentist's during his childhood years. He smiled bitterly.

Whenever he had the time to, he'd get up to unlock the bottom left drawer of his closet and reread his last will and testament a few couple times before getting back in bed. In a few days time, I most likely wouldn't be here anymore. Most likely? He paused unbelievably at the hope his heart still grasped onto. Get a hold of yourself, Asher.

Like expected, the headaches started occurring on day two.

No wonder they were known as thunderclap headaches; each was less painful than the last. How do the little kids put up with these symptoms?

And then he suddenly realised that he, indeed, was nothing but a coward. Understanding the symptoms stage by stage was so very different from going through them. This whole time, he thought he was helping the world do good by collecting data. Now that he was diagnosed himself, he realised that nothing was more important than finding a cure to stop this whole vicious cycle of losing lives. He questioned if he would ever make it past this second stage. It was almost as if someone would clip the sides of his head with a clothespin in an abrupt manner, release it suddenly, and forcefully snap the clip back on his head when he least expected it.

・・・

Sometime during the early hours of the morning, his head swam in circles around the room. Constance was sleeping in the living room. The moonlight gently shone through the curtains by the window. His head throbbed as a ripple of pain suddenly swarmed through his side. Clutching his head in agony, he bent over towards the side of the bed and vomited blood. He was a dehydrated hound, panting as his vision blurred. Is this how I die?

Reaching over to his nearby desk, he clawed at the syringe. The room was still swimming in a pool of murky shadows as he injected both medications at the same time into his left arm. It was then when the ground steadied itself and his headache ended. Exhausted, he fell back to sleep.

・・・

He had a dream that night. Someone was calling his name.

"Maybe it's time you finally wake up."

・・・

The sunlight spilled through the curtains and onto the floor of the living room. Something felt weirdly off as Constance rubbed her eyes awake. Swiftly getting up from her makeshift sofa bed, she gently knocked the door to check up on her husband.

"Honey, I'm coming in," she whispered before opening the door.

He was not in bed. And then she remembered hearing the sounds of pots and pans bustling in the kitchen.

Asher was in the kitchen, cooking both of them breakfast like usual. She thought she was seeing things--maybe even hallucinating an image of him cooking.

"Asher?" She blinked a few times. "Why are you up at this hour?"

"Oh, you're awake," he says. "I just had this sudden urge to eat. I haven't had a proper appetite over the past few days."

And she immediately knew that what happened over the past few months--the disease, rising number of deaths, his diagnosis--was not a part of the dream she had hoped she was in. Is this the "surge before death" moment? She wondered to herself. Do I need to start making funeral arrangements?

"Hey," he walked over to the dinner table and set down two plates of food. "This may sound really weird, but my headaches have fully disappeared. I feel like nothing has happened, almost as if I'm fully recovered now."

"You're lying," Constance said. "I don't want you messing around with my hopes at a time like this."

But that was exactly what happened. A few days later, Asher tested negative at the hospital.

"It's an absolute miracle," the doctors proclaimed. "We're still looking into his case, but it seems like the cure had something to do with the health injections we prescribed him. If this becomes a cure, then we can consider injecting this into all the other patients."

Constance was in charge of recording his conditions daily. She was supplied with a numerous amount of the same prescribed injections they had given Asher earlier, and was instructed to inject a mixture of both on a daily basis.

Maybe we don't deserve to have a happy ending like this, not with the rest of the world crumbling away at itself. But she kept that thought in her head, because she was truly grateful for the sudden turn of events.