Uso dayo!

He did that a lot these days, just staring at the ceiling. Was it the ceiling? It was hard to think, with the haze constantly clouding his mind. Death had not been kind to him. He was tired. Going anywhere would take great effort—his lungs constricted in a vice and his muscles fatigued and lethargic from the poison that coursed through his body, persistent aches radiating through every bone in his body as they'd slowly been crushed into splinters.

No, it was easier just to stay down, and so he laid there on his back, staring at the ceiling, contemplating his situation.

He couldn't tell where he was. He didn't really care much, when he thought about it. To find out would mean to get up, and to get up would mean to fight the ache in his chest and bones and soul. Wherever it was, it was quiet. So very quiet. Not a breath of life anywhere. Not even from him.

There was nobody here.

Where had he come from, then? That thought was a little more enticing. He spent a lot more time thinking about that than anything else. The others. They were doing well, he hoped. It was the only thing he could bring himself to hope. Obviously, there was no way to know.

There was nobody here.

He was alone, and he always would be.

Would he be happy, knowing that? Did he mean it when he'd said it?

His finger stung for no apparent reason.

It's not like it really mattered anymore. Not now.

The floor was cold—was it the floor?—but then again, everything was cold. It was the kind of cold that seeped into his already aching bones and chilled his very core in a way that would have made him tremble if he could. There was a coat or something beneath him, a layer of fabric that should have protected his bare back from the icy metal beneath it. With the chill that wracked his body, it decidedly did not.

The ceiling was shiny—was it the ceiling?—and reflected his miserable body back at him. Pasty-white, drained of life and blood, dead eyes that barely acknowledged themselves staring back. The coat splayed out from beneath him like starry angel's wings, streaked with his own poisoned blood.

Except there was no body there. That was the whole point, wasn't it?

He closed his eyes. He didn't like thinking about where he was. He decided to lie that he didn't know until he conveniently forgot again.

Where must the others be, if he was here alone? Somewhere better? That would be nice. There was no way to know the truth, so why not cook up a kinder lie?

He was in space somewhere, exploring the farthest reaches of the stars and universe the way he always wanted without the inhibitions of mortality holding him back. He was in a sunny clearing in a forest, free from the scrutiny of his peers, with every bug he could imagine there to care for and to study. She was in a well-stocked lab with all the tools and supplies and ideas she could ever want, with no need for food or sleep to hold her back anymore. He was watching over his sisters in a world that was always changing, never boring and always intriguing, where he would never run out of places to explore.

She was following along behind the person she loved, watching over her and protecting her. She was with the god she'd revered so much. He was reunited with his sister. She was free from her duties and expectations, finally released to see to her own needs. He was at peace with his lost loved one. She was watching over him and everyone, friends forever.

And he...

He opened his eyes and stared at the ceiling.

He was here.

The ceiling stared back, unmoved.

There was nobody here.

His soul ached.

There was no body here.

He closed his eyes again.

He was tired. Maybe he should just sleep. Rest and let eternity pass him by all on its own. The lies were too much, with no one to share them with. He would be alone either way, and thinking was getting too difficult to be worth the trouble.

Maybe after some time, he will be able to muster the energy to turn his head, and see the light pouring in through the open hangar door.

But for now, he wanted to sleep in his cruel lie.