My username read: "Borrowed Time, Please Don't Refresh."
"Hey—can you see me?"
I leaned closer to the camera and waved, my smile a little too bright, the kind people put on when they're trying not to scare anyone.
The screen framed me in pale hospital blues—curtains, sheets, walls that smelled faintly of disinfectant and something metallic I could never quite name.
I was wearing standard-issue hospital pajamas, the kind that swallowed your shape and erased any sense of dignity.
Behind the camera, Rachel inhaled sharply, her breath catching like it always did when she was trying not to cry.
"It's… it's recording," she whispered.
"Great." I clapped my hands together, like a director calling for silence on set. Then I reached up and peeled off my wig in one smooth motion, setting it on my lap.
My head gleamed under the fluorescent lights.
"As you can see," I said cheerfully, tapping my scalp, "I'm officially aerodynamic. If there's ever a headwind, I'm ready."
Rachel let out a broken laugh that dissolved immediately into a sob.
"And," I added, lifting my chin with exaggerated pride, "I recently broke up with my boyfriend of seven years. Correction—I dumped him. Very decisively. Ten out of ten execution."
I paused for effect, eyes flicking toward the camera.
"Details matter."
I folded my hands neatly on my lap, my voice softening. "The reason I'm making these videos is simple. I don't think anyone should disappear without leaving something behind. Being forgotten feels… lonely. Even imagining it."
I leaned forward slightly. "If no one brings flowers to my grave on holidays, I'll haunt someone. I haven't decided who yet, but I'm flexible."
I put my hands on my hips and pointed straight at the lens. "Rachel, I'll allow you to forget me after one year. Earlier than that, I'll be offended."
I paused, then added, quieter, "Later than that… I'll be offended too."
She broke down completely then. Her hands shook so badly the frame tilted, the image blurring.
"Hey, hey—steady," I said quickly. "This is important. You have to capture my final glow properly. If I'm going out, I want good lighting."
"I don't want to do this anymore," she cried. "You're not dying. You're just sick. You'll get better."
Off-screen, her voice cracked into a wail, but she stubbornly kept the phone raised, even as the image trembled.
On-screen, I swallowed hard. My eyes burned.
"If you don't like the word 'goodbye,'" I said carefully, "then let's call this a 'Healing Journey' instead. That sounds hopeful, right?"
I took a breath. "Today is October 12, 2024. The weather's nice." I pointed toward the window, and the camera followed.
Outside, sunlight spilled over an amusement park pressed right up against the hospital grounds. A Ferris wheel turned lazily. Children's laughter drifted up, bright and careless, leaking into the sterile room like something unreal.
"See?" I said softly. "The world's doing just fine."
The camera returned to my face.
"Healing Journey number one," I continued. "Today, I'm officially going to stop loving Evan Cross."
I made a face. "We've only been broken up for four months, and he's already dating someone else. That should be illegal. At least morally."
I sighed, then smiled again. "But she's pretty. And healthy. And she gets to marry the man I thought I would."
There was a pause—longer this time.
"I'm jealous," I admitted. "Of her body. Of her future. Of how easily her life keeps going."
Then I straightened, voice lighter. "But it's okay. Truly. If there's a next life, I'm calling dibs on happiness early."
I raised two fingers like a promise.
"No misunderstandings next time. No missed timing. No running out of days."
I glanced at Rachel behind the camera. "Alright. That's enough for today."
The screen shook as she nodded furiously.
"End recording," I said gently.
And the video cut to black.