Winter Graveyard

After finishing my class, I gathered my books to leave.

It was a short walk back to the dorm. Suddenly, my head spun violently. Before I could react, I stumbled and tumbled down the stairs.

I lay on the ground for a long time before I could limp to the infirmary.

The school doctor examined me, his brow deeply furrowed. I didn't take it seriously. "Probably just low blood sugar from the heavy workload. I'll pay attention to my diet and rest."

The school doctor ordered a whole battery of tests and insisted I go to a major hospital for a full examination.

Seeing his serious expression, I skipped my afternoon classes, hailed a cab, and headed to the city hospital.

Getting the tests done took the whole afternoon, including a brain CT and other checks.

Waiting for the results took a week.

A week later, standing outside a hospital clinic door, clutching a thick stack of reports, my hands were shaking. Behind the dense, incomprehensible medical terms was a small note: Amyotrophic Lateral Sclerosis.

The doctor said many things; I didn't register a single word.

Finally, I searched online. When the words "Lou Gehrig's disease" appeared, I was shocked.

How could such a rare disease have anything to do with me?

I had one year left until graduation, the top student in the Fine Arts department.

Soon, I was supposed to hold my own solo exhibition.

Holding the reports, I walked slowly home, gradually digesting this fact.

I was destined to die.

Before dying, I could at least donate my body to science.

After all, I had once dreamed of becoming a doctor, but due to certain events, I ended up in art school instead.

After signing the body donation consent form, only the family consent section remained blank.

My hand holding the pen tightened, then slowly relaxed after a long while.

As dusk fell, I finally took out my phone and dialed the number I hadn't called in five years.

The phone rang many times without an answer. On my third call, just as I was about to hang up for the last time—he answered.

"Alan, could you sign my body donation consent form?"

I stated my purpose, but there was no sound from the other end.

I even wondered if the call hadn't connected properly, or if he hadn't heard.

Just as I was about to repeat myself, an impatient voice came through: "Stop bothering me."

My eyes stung.

Before I could say anything else, the line went dead.

So, even after five years of silence, his resentment towards me hadn't lessened at all.

The doctor told me ALS was difficult to cure; at best, medicine could control the symptoms, but ultimately, all organ functions would fail.

I didn't know which day I would collapse on the street.

Or which morning I’d wake up unable to walk, or even grasp things.

Breathing, even speaking, would become difficult.

I decided to use whatever time I had left to settle all my affairs, then wait quietly for death.

I booked a flight for that night and flew straight to Alan's city.

I’d been out of touch with him for too long, and I’d never been to his city. It took me forever to find his company.

Unsurprisingly, the security guards stopped me at the entrance.

"I need to see Alan. I'm his niece."

The guard wouldn't let me in. "Never heard of President Dale having a niece. What kind of place do you think this is? No appointment, no entry."

I pleaded politely, "I really am his niece. I won't take long. Five minutes, tops, and I'll be out."

The guard didn't believe me and even started shoving me, trying to push me away.

I refused; I had to see Alan.

Amid the argument, a car pulled up, and the window rolled down.

I heard a man's derisive snort, followed by his voice: "You certainly have some nerve."

My heart dropped.

He felt somewhat unfamiliar after so many years, but the voice was still etched in my memory.

Instinctively, I felt guilty, ashamed before him.

I fought the urge to run, forcing myself to look at him calmly.

Five years had changed Alan from the twenty-year-old youth he once was. That young man who had begged on the phone to see my sister Julia one last time.

Technically, Alan was a boy my elderly grandmother adopted. He grew up with me and my sister Julia.

My parents died in a car crash; Grandma was heartbroken.

That's when she adopted Alan.

Alan and Julia grew up together. I once thought my uncle would become my brother-in-law.

The window rolled up, and the Cayenne started to drive away before I snapped out of it.

"I'm not here to cause trouble. I just need you to sign this."

Legally, he was now my only relative.

He took the file, flipping to the last page.

I saw his signing hand pause slightly before he said indifferently, "Then add another clause: notify me when you're actually dead and it's time for the funeral."

After a long moment, I heard my own voice: "Okay."