The Greatest Showman #1151 – The End of Despair

Ryan Stone gently closed his eyes, the intense warmth in his chest causing his eyelids to tremble. Though he had no eyes, the sensation of throbbing deep within his soul was undeniable. His body, suspended in weightlessness, swayed gently, caught in the fragments of sounds trickling through the radio.

A smile tugged at the corner of his mouth—bright and seemingly content—but the sorrow and despair buried beneath his expression were palpable. It was like the gentle waves of an ocean caressing the shore—beautiful, fleeting, yet followed by an overwhelming tide of sadness that lingered longer than it should.

Slowly, Ryan relaxed his grip on his hands, shoulders, waist, and thighs. In the weightless void, his body moved like a drifting plant, his face softened in peaceful resignation. He resembled a child in a cradle, drifting toward sleep, the faint sadness and pain gradually fading.

It was like ripples in water—imperceptible, but with an aftertaste that lingered.

When Ryan opened his eyes again, his expression had transformed into one of calm. The smile had softened, now holding a tranquility that almost felt final. "An Ninggang," he spoke quietly, as if savoring a lullaby. "Can you make your dog bark a few more times?" he asked. He paused, then repeated, "Dog. Barking. Dog."

Suddenly, An Ninggang playfully imitated a wolf's howl, and the air filled with a joyful cheer. The scene shifted, and Ryan's smile grew again, but with a tinge of bittersweetness. His eyes shut once more, and he clenched his jaw tightly, stifling the complex emotions swelling within him. He had spoken a thousand words in his silence, but only a few sounds broke through.

"Wang Wang."

"Ow."

Ryan joined in, imitating the bark, while An Ninggang playfully howled. The cultural differences were stark—one man's "wang wang" echoed the familiar sound of a dog's bark in Chinese, while the other's howl mirrored the wildness of nature in another tongue. The absurdity of the situation met the harshness of their shared reality, each sound resonating more deeply than expected, pushing Ryan to the edge of his endurance.

The tension was palpable. His emotions—anger, frustration, and grief—came crashing down all at once, swirling in a storm that left him momentarily lost. He howled with abandon, releasing every last shred of control. In that outburst, he tasted the sharp bitterness of his struggles—unwillingness and anger, but those quickly gave way to something deeper. He closed his eyes tightly, but tears betrayed him, slipping down his face in silence.

He gritted his teeth, his voice caught in his chest, stifling a cry he couldn't release. His hands clenched into fists, his muscles taut with restraint. If he could, he would have shattered everything in his path. But he couldn't. He held himself back, enduring the worst of his emotions, unable to let go fully.

"Ow... no... no, no..." he murmured, his voice breaking. He shook his head gently, trying to regain control. A deep breath filled his lungs, and the torrent of emotions started to recede, replaced by a strained chuckle.

"I'm going to die, An Ninggang," Ryan said, his voice calm but hollow, his eyes reflecting the sad understanding of his fate. "I know everyone must die. But... today, it's my turn."

His words hung in the air, unfinished, as he stared into the void. It was a simple statement, yet it carried a depth that was almost too much to bear. In that moment, time seemed to stretch, and the weight of his reality crushed down on him.

"It's funny," Ryan muttered, a self-deprecating smile tugging at his lips. "You know... when you know..." His words trailed off, his mind seemingly slowing. Even so, the unspoken meaning was clear.

Knowing death will come is one thing; knowing when it will come—today, now—was another.

The emptiness that followed was unbearable. It was not just a physical void but a deeper, more profound absence.

He looked up, his gaze distant, as though seeking something in the silent radio. Then, with a quiet murmur, he asked, "Will you mourn for me? Will you pray for me?" His voice cracked with the weight of the question. "Or is it too late? It feels like I've lost my family... like I've lost them all."

The simple word "lost" held so much weight in that moment. It wasn't just the loss of life, but the loss of everything that had ever mattered. A heavy sigh escaped him, a resigned sadness washing over him without explanation.

"I want to pray for myself," he continued, his voice barely a whisper. "But I've never prayed. Because no one ever taught me." The loneliness in his words bled through, deep and silent. "Never."

The faint sound of An Ninggang humming a lullaby interrupted the moment, but it did little to ease the crushing weight that had settled in Ryan's chest. The sound of a baby crying reached his ears, and a stark realization hit him—he had never known the comfort of prayer, of being mourned, of being loved in that way.

Tears welled in his eyes as he heard the cry of a newborn—a sound so pure, so full of life. But for Ryan, it was a painful reminder of everything he had lost. His thoughts drifted to his younger brother, the family he'd left behind. The faces blurred, fading into a distant memory.

He had longed for something greater, something beyond this fragile existence, but now, standing on the precipice of death, he realized that the very thing he had sought—life—was already slipping away.

A tear fell from his eye, then another, and another. There was no sound, just the quiet, unbroken cascade of emotion, as if the tears alone could speak for him. He clenched his teeth, unable to speak, only able to feel.

The pain, the loss, the finality of it all. It overwhelmed him, filling him with a grief so profound that words were useless. He had lost it all, and now, all that remained was this quiet, aching sorrow.