You’re still in the hospital, the morning of the day number twenty six.

And if the kid didn’t have enough sending you to that room, he comes here.

“I thought we weren’t supposed to wander around just like that,” you say, scowling at him. “Or are you allowed ‘cause you’re a kid?”

it looked like a train station to me

You frown at the memory coming back to you, why is it important now?

Matt shifts in the bed, hearing the noise probably. But he surely can’t see the kid, right? So no problem.

“You didn’t die at the same time as me, did you?” You ask slowly, catching the kid’s reaction. Matt looks up, a bit hazed.

“Who are you talking to?” He asks, words slurring.

“No one,” you whisper, feeling guilty for waking him. Right, he can't see the kid, but he can actually hear you, stupid of you to think otherwise. “Sorry, Matt,” you leave the room, being followed by the kid.

There's this mistery around the kid, you never know why, but something seems off about him.

And the realization hits you.

“How long have you been dead?” You ask, eyes fixed on the kid. He smiles, happy and knowing. “How long?” You insist, getting impatient.

You’re just hoping he isn’t God, because you’ve been treating him pretty badly. And you’re not the most religious person, but you don’t really want to go to hell.

And the kid laughs and you forget he can read your thoughts too.

“You’re so annoying, are you sure you’re a superior-celestial… thing?” You ask, crossing your arms against your chest. “Are you my guardian angel or something?”

“There’s no such thing as a guardian angel,” he says, sounding older, a strange serious expression on his childish features.

It throws you off.

“Then what? God of death? Death itself? A demon? An angel?” You almost snort.

What if he is though.

“You don’t get to ask,” He retorts, with a mischievous smile playing on his lips, looking very out of place on his baby face.

“Now you’re just playing with me,” you almost roll your eyes. Weird, you’d think you’d get more cautious, but no, you’re fucking up even more. It’s like you’re just as edgy as a cranky toddler.

Well, yesterday was a long day.

“You must be noticing it too,” he says, and you stop, knowing what he’s talking about. “You’re getting ready to leave, you’re forgetting this life, to start another one.”

You look at him, feeling conflicted.

So you were right. You are forgetting.

I don’t want another one. I want this one.

You cover your face, you’re not sure if you said the last thing or thought it, but he knows anyway, so you’re fucked. He must hear this a lot.

“Not as often as you think,” He replies, right on cue.

There’s silence for a moment.

“Is there a way to revert this?” You ask, not moving from your spot, although you sense he’s leaving soon.

“They buried you,” he whispers, leaning down in front of you. You don’t even feel like crying anymore, just emptiness, nostalgia. “Oh, but they loved you,” He lifts your chin up, “They loved you so much.”

“Some people don’t even get that privilege,”

A single tears rolls down your cheek.

Because you don’t feel better. You want to drown yourself in grief. You want to feel pain again.

It’s exhausting to feel empty.

“We’re not part of that world anymore, even if we want to be,” He says.

There’s unease creeping on you now, even more than before. It’s like the time’s running out and you haven’t done a thing. You’ve made everything worse.

Is it your fault what happened with Matt?

Why do you feel it is?

The kid looks at you for a moment and then pulls out something from his pocket.

“What is that?” You ask, frowning, it looks like a fancy flashlight to you.

“Kaleidoscope,” he replies and you start to focus on it.

“Is it mine?” You ask, because you haven’t seen one of those in years, but it looks oddly familiar.

“Something like that.”

“Can I see it?”

“No.”

“Is that a number?” you ask, catching the design on the side.

He looks mildly annoyed, but he nods, and you’re kind of disappointed that he won’t play along anymore.

“No name?” You ask.

“Not everyone has a name.”

You close your mouth at that because he’s right. Still, you don’t understand why he’s showing you this.

“Look at this,” he points at a little bar on the end, “These are your memories.”

It’s almost full. There’s nothing new there. You know that you’ll be gone soon.

“Is that all?” You ask, looking down. “All that will be left of me? A fucking flashli-”

“It’s no flashlight,” He says patiently.

“I don’t care,” You cover your face, feeling pathetic. “Who’s going to keep that? That’s my whole life… everything I ever… I don’t… I just…” You struggle for words.

why didn’t i do more

He kneels again, and pulls you into a hug, you can almost feel the contact. It feels so real for a moment and you gasp at the suddenness of it.

“You did fine,” he whispers.

The hug lasts longer than you expected it to.

“They’ll be holding a service for you on Saturday,” He says, standing up and pulling away, but you don't move, you didn’t realize how much you missed being held by someone. “All your friends and family will be there, I’m allowing you to stay that much. Don’t interfere again.”

You don’t look up.

“I mean it.”

You should be grateful that he gives you more time.

“Why did you pick me?” You ask instead, when he’s leaving.

“Because you can make a change,” he whispers and before you can make any sense of that, he’s gone.