In The Mist
A bunch of crumpled letters in the trash can. He’s still writing.
“You know, life is so vain. What’s the point? You do this for a while or you do that for a while. You get money, eat some food. Maybe get a little famous. But, that’s kind of boring too. And God’s not even real. It’s just a lie that we tell to convince ourselves that we aren’t just meandering bags of evolution. And if He was, he must be a kid or something. You know, the kind infatuated with disaster and disease. Like cancer. Makes my head itch.”
“But, you. You’re different. You make me forget about all of these thoughts — ”
He didn’t finish the sentence and scribbled all across the letter with his pen. He crumpled the letter and threw it into the trash can without looking.
He was trying to write a card for Valentine’s Day.
“What the absolute fuck am I doing? Monica ain’t no Dr. Phil.”
He sighed and got out from his hospital bed. He washed his face in his private bathroom and looked at his bald head in the mirror. He scratched his head. It was itchy.
“Hey, you.” he said to the young man in the mirror. “What’s the point of being fucking rich if you don’t got time to spend it.”
He dried his face.
As he left the bathroom, he tilted his head to the side. There was an unexpected visitor.
“Um. Who are you?”
“Hiya, bitchass. I’m Greg. Nice to meet you.”
His green eyes sparkled with positivity, something he hated to see in a man. He lent out his hand. Thomas shook it with a pained look of irritation.
“Yeah. Nice to meet you. But, who the fuck are you again?”
“Yeah, I know that. But, who are you?”
“Dear God, where is the nurse? Nurse! There’s a deranged man in my room!”
“Why ask God? Lucy sent me here. Besides, no one can hear us in here.”
Thomas scratched the side of his hip and smacked his morning lips together. He looked at the humidifier, sending waves of mist into the air. He saw the crumpled letter that missed the trashcan.
“Goddamn, it missed. Anyway, stranger. This Lucy sent you here. Whatever. What do you want? Money? I got plenty of that shit, and I’m actually feeling kind of generous these days.”
“Money? Hm. That’ll probably useful when I turn mortal. But actually, Thomas, I came here to give you something.”
Thomas wasn’t surprised that the man knew his name. He was the heir to the largest conglomerate in the United States and an international best-selling novelist.
He looked at the man’s clothes. They seemed plain.
“Give me something? What can someone like you give to someone like me?”
“A 30 day trial.”
“The fuck? I don’t have time for your shit. Nurse! Nu — !”
He wasn’t easily surprised, but Thomas jumped backwards.
Greg’s hand reached into his own chest as if to touch his heart’s left ventricle. He pulled his hand out with a red stone.
“The fucking chemo.” said Thomas. “The fucking chemo.”
“I’ve come to bargain. I’ll give you immortality. But in return, you have to save Lucy.”
Thomas made a face as if he smelled something rancorous. And yet, he was a bit hungry as his stomach growled.
“Oh, sure. Let me just — Who the fuck is Lucy? But sure, whatever. I’ll play your little game.”
“Cool beans. Put your hand on the stone.”
“Yeah, whatever, Willis.”
He put his hand on the stone, and pain suddenly gripped his whole body. Thomas Wayne knew pain, but this was something different. It was as if his whole cardiovascular system was on fire. The stone diffused in his hand, and his veins glowed red.
He was delirious.
“Wha-t the fu-ck d-did you do to me?”
The world went out of focus as colors blurred. His surroundings seem to evaporate into gas as everything stretched or shrunk.
“Oh, you know. I just made you into a fine, fine Fallen.”
The last thing he saw was the mist from the humidifier. It was strangely clear amidst the distortion of space-time.
And as he lost consciousness he heard a voice. He was going to know who said it very well.
“Letters don’t burn in the mist.”