Page 38 of Knot Your Fated M.U.S.E.

Can't be the asset my pack needs.

They try to hide it, but I see the worry in their eyes.

The way they watch me struggle with basic tasks I used to perform without thought. The way they pretend not to notice when I have to stop and rest. When my legs refuse to cooperate because the pain becomes too much to mask.

It’s agonizing to watch each of them observe me.

Atlas with his careful attentiveness. Always aware of when I need help, even when I’m too fucking proud to dare ask or accept.

Dante is the forced joker in the group. He’s always trying to keep things as normal as they can possibly be in such a frail state, despite the reality that shatters his heart to see me deteriorate day by day.

Kieran is the silent observer. The support that watches in the midst, ready to catch me when I fall, but hopes to never be given such an opportunity to perform at his peak.

They're all waiting for the inevitable.

Watching me die by inches.

All powerless to stop it.

Just like I am.

The water's not even cold anymore, heat leached from my failing body turning it tepid.

Won’t be long before this treatment will be on the list of useless methods of alleviation, bringing me closer to that package of acknowledgment that will be presented to me sooner than later.

Hospice care…

I push the mere idea as far as it can in the depths of my mind, but the reality keeps sinking in, while I try to distract myself.

Counting the sensations I can still feel. Measuring progress in losses. Racing against a clock I can't see but know is ticking down

The disease is winning.

Has been winning since that first moment of dizziness on the training field, and will keep on its path of victory until there's nothing left of me but memories and regrets.

And all the strategic thinking in the world can't solve this problem.

It’s funny when you’re forced to accept that you can't plan your way out of this decay. Can't possibly outsmart death when it comes from within.

This is my reality.

My future.

My end.

Unless I can find that single puzzle piece of change that could trigger a new path of hope? If I can find answers that may assist in discovering some other method to tackle this sick unknown illness. Or maybe a miracle will happen…

But I stopped believing in miracles the day my legs first betrayed me.

So I sit in my lukewarm bath, watching my reddened skin refuse to acknowledge the ice, and there are those taunting thoughts that seep into my consciousness like how the frost is desperate to continue seeping into my lifeless set of legs beneath this icy oasis of water.

How much time do I have left?

How many more missions can I support from the sidelines?

How long before I become a burden they can't afford to carry?

The questions have no answers, and the future does not dare to hold any promise that the end of the path will lead me to feel content with facing death.

---