It was never going to happen. It was never supposed to happen, but his eyes opened. The heart monitor flatlined as he unplugged himself. Legs weak from dystrophy, they bowed beneath the weight of him. He toppled into a wheelchair reacclimating himself to being alive again.
Where was it coming from? The window was left open and the song was falling from the sky.
The hospital was hollow and the note drops echoed loudly on the roof. He climbed steps his muscles having forgotten how to do so. Forwards and upwards. Pushing the emergency bar to the roof, he was greeted by the the coarse morning air, and there she was, almost translucent. Hospital gown blowing in the moonlight, pale and thin, the waning moon radiated through her.
Stumbling forward behind his words, “I’ve been asleep.”
She turned around, eyes pressed deep into her skull, hollow cheeks, and skin wrapped tight over degenerating muscles. She looked into his eyes, “I refuse to die from this disease.”
She turned around, looked over her shoulder, “Welcome to this world,” and jumped.