Elegy from Another World

A white ceiling, the smell of disinfectant, and the ticking of instruments that seemed to be counting down my days. This was my final world.

I struggled to move my cloudy eyes, my vision focusing with difficulty on the bedside. My wife held my hand, the hand that had once given me warmth countless times, now trembling slightly. Tears silently streamed down her wrinkled cheeks, dripping onto the back of my withered hand. Beside us was our child, now middle-aged, his lips tightly pressed together, his eyes red-rimmed, trying hard not to cry out, but the sorrow in his eyes broke my heart more than any loud sobbing. In the distance, the doctor in his white coat gently shook his head; that tiny gesture, like the final gavel, pronounced my fate.

At this moment, I should logically feel calm, even a sense of "blessing" as the older generation often speaks of—to be able to bid farewell surrounded by family, without illness or disaster, and to die peacefully in my old age. Yes, my life has been as ordinary as a pebble on a riverbank. I followed the expected path of studying, working, starting a family, and having children, calmly traversing the route most people take. There were no earth-shattering achievements, nor any dramatic or extraordinary events.

But I'm not willing to accept this! I really don't want to die!

My youth coincided with the dawn of "immortality technology" piercing through traditional views of life and death. News reports and magazines were filled with fantasies of infinite life. At that moment, I felt as if the door to another world was opening before me. It wasn't just about living; it was an opportunity to break free from the shackles of fate! I was completely ignited by this possibility.

Therefore, I abandoned the anime world I had once been immersed in, and gave up my dream of becoming an "otaku" who built a fantasy kingdom with a paintbrush and code. Those passionate anime, fantastical games, and the urge deep within me to adventure in another world… all these treasures of my youth were unhesitatingly sacrificed to the altar called "immortality." I poured all my time, energy, and even most of my money into studying and researching complex fields such as life sciences and consciousness uploading. I naively believed that as long as I ran fast enough, I could catch up with time.

However, reality is cruel. Immortality technology is like a mirage, seemingly within reach yet always out of reach. It has become the privilege of a few, or an insurmountable technological barrier. And my two initial, purest dreams—"to achieve immortality" and "to experience another world"—are like two sides of the same coin; ultimately, neither was realized.

I took a deep breath, mustered my last strength, and forced a smile for my wife and children, uttering a weak voice: "I...I'm fine..."

"I'm alright?" No, that's probably the most hypocritical sentence I've ever uttered in my life. How could I be alright? My heart has already been overwhelmed by a monstrous storm. It's a deep love for my family and endless guilt—for my past neglect, for my impending departure from them; it's also resentment towards the injustice of fate and resentment at my own powerlessness—why was I given eyes to see hope, yet arms that cannot reach it? Why have I sacrificed so much, yet not even had a chance to touch the edge of my dreams?

These complex, burning emotions surged and intertwined in my chest, ultimately transforming into an unspeakable breath, a fog that held a lifetime of regrets.

And so, I closed my eyes.