"Your hands are more bandaged than usual" comments my assistant dryly, glancing towards the fresh white gauze wrapped around my fingers. Her name is Vivian, and she's far too perceptive to be working with someone like me. But she is unstable too, in a partial sort of way which I find quite appealing.

I stare out my office window, tapping the cold glass with my thumb.

"Yes, I had a small - - accident in the lab last night"

Vivian smiles, quite unable to hide her amusement, "there's a rumour that all of the laboratory rats have vanished" she replies, running a delicate hand through her raven black hair.

"Ah yes," I sigh distractedly "how very unfortunate"

"I forgot, but don't you get off on those sorts of things"

I press my lips together in a thin line, eyes narrowed.

"Tell me, is there a good reason why you're here today?"

Vivian sticks out her lip "You're such a goddamn buzz-kill, Dr. K. Yeah, I'm supposed to tell you that the head of the department has sent you a brand new rat to replace all the ones that were - - lost last night"

"You're talking about my experimental subject? Tell me more"

Vivian sighs drearily "She's 24. Uh, her name is Marie something. What I do know is that she was recently locked up for killing her grandfather in cold blood. Something about getting an in on the family fortune. Now the sly bitch's sentenced die to. Guess you're the one responsible for the execution"

A death row inmate for my first subject? Well if this doesn't show that the department don't give half a damn for this research initiative than I don't know what does. Ah well. At least I have something to work with now.

The phone rings. A strange coincidence. The voice on the other end of the line tells me that I speaking to the department head, my boss. I call him motojime-san, or boss in Japanese, though his real name is Clark. I suppose we've always gotten along, since when a job needs to be done I complete it in an efficient and timely manner. I've been working here for nearly five years, so technically I'm still a newbie. In this profession unless you're reaching the level of senior citizen, chances are you haven't been working in the same place for long. But I was seventeen when I graduated from university, receiving a honours degree in biochemistry. From this point I proceeded to work towards my doctorate, then spent some time gathering experience working at a research company until I was hired to work in the research department of this hospital. Five years and I have my own office and an assistant.

"Kuromeru, are you listening to me? I can nearly see you gloating to yourself on the other end of the line. Honestly - -" sighs Clark.

"Motojime-san! You're calling me for a reason, no?" I reply cheerfully.

"The way you use Japanese is sickening," sighs Clark in an annoyed tone "at any rate we're waiting for you here, on the tenth floor, room 101A. The interns have graciously offered to give up one of their operating theatres for your use specifically. It should match what you requested. But be careful, when you come in, since we are dealing with a criminal" he warns.

"Don't worry so much," I tease "at this rate you'll retire early"

"Watch it, Kuromeru. I'm the one who writes your paycheck"

"Hai, hai. I'll be down to see you soon"

I press the call end button and stand up. I tell Vivian to take care of the rest of my paperwork before grabbing my lab coat and heading out the door.

My eyes follow a red line on the floor. There's a green line beside it, which eventually diverges onto its own path. I am on the tenth floor of the hospital, where a majority of our operating theatres are located. Room 101A is in General Surgery. I walk along the hallways following that red line, a doctor among doctors. I've never felt like a doctor. These real doctors are extraordinary people. Some of them I'll never understand. They work tirelessly, but never sleep. They see death and suffering on a regular basis, but still greet you with a smile on their face. They don't wear starch white, clean and pressed lab-coats over expensive suits and equally expensive casual sweaters. They wear cheap plastic shoes, and lose shapeless smocks printed with baby ducks and pink cats. In a strange way they've intimidated me since the first day I started working here. Though I know by the way they look at me that I have no reason to feel that way. There's whispering. A few of them must have heard that I would be descending from the 14th floor from the research department. Kuromeru. The way they say my name hints at their ever-present fascination with foreign names.

I stop at the door to 101A, reading the room number with an expression that I'm trying to keep tired and disinterested. I can't let anyone know that I'm anything other than what they think I am. I take a breath and walk inside, making sure the door closes behind me. The sight inside is really nothing I've ever expected. The only real modification to the room itself is that the operating table itself has been removed and replaced with a hospital bed. I've thought those tables are always so short and narrow. Not really meant for human bodies though they're supposed to be. The first person who looks in my direction is Clark. He tries to smile, though I compulsively keep my expression blank. I can't help it really, it's just how I am. I walk right past him, trying to get to the bed, which is blocked by several men who might be officers of the state. I sigh in irritation as a hand holds me back.

"We're glad that you're ready to start Sol, but as you know there are certain protocol to follow in this situation," explains Clark.

"I need everyone to clear the room" I announce, with Clark stuttering protests as I finish my sentence. The guards gladly oblige my request, revealing a small boyish-haired woman sitting on side of the bed facing the wall. Clark shakes his head, leaving eventually but not without telling me for the hundredth time to be careful. Even when the two of us are the only ones in the room, the woman refuses to turn around. I approach her carefully, until I'm standing only a foot away from the hospital bed.

"I don't believe you're dangerous," I tell her, sitting on the edge of the bed with my back facing hers "really, you have to understand that I'm here to help you, Marie" I explain, with an emphasis on help.

"H-how do you know my name?" comes the reply in a shaking voice.

"I know everything about you. Your name is Marie Dureve. You're 24 years old and you were recently convicted for murdering your grandfather"

I can hear Marie turning around, coming closer to me "I didn't kill him!" she cries "I would never - - kill - -"

"Yes, but does that really matter?" I ask, leaning across the bed just inches away from her face. In retaliation she slaps me in blind rage. The impact forces me to grab the mattress to steady myself, but hurts little.

"Oh god! I'm so sorry," exclaims Marie, putting a hand on my shoulder. I smile and straighten myself, getting up off the bed.

"It's a pleasure to meet you," I reply, extending my hand "My name is Sol Kuromeru, and my job is to bring light into the darkness called death"

Marie bursts out laughing once she hears my introduction. With her child-like physique and honest face it's hard to see her as a murderer.

"Kuro-meru? That's an interesting name! Anyways, I'm sorry if I hurt you, I didn't mean to. I guess I've been balloon that keeps filling and filling with air until - - well, you know what I mean"

If you're wondering about my name, my father was Japanese. A rich business man who came to this state to marry an American woman. I've never been fluent in my father's language, only picking up words and phrases here and there. My half-Asian features can often fool people into thinking I am.

"I'm sorry for being a little too blunt with you" I reply "what I'm trying to say that what you've done (or haven't done) doesn't matter to me. I hate formalities, so consider me a friend, if you will"

"I- I don't understand" whispers Marie, her voice quietly trailing off.

"Why am I here? I don't know. If I'm sick - - am I sick?"

"You're sick? Do you really think that's a possibility at this point? I wonder. Someone like you - - who is already sentenced to die. Treating you for any illness would be a waste of time and resources, certainly. But - - in a way I suppose you might be considered sick. Your disease is life, understand? The only reason why you're here talking to me today is because you have been chosen - - to receive the ultimate cure for your condition"

"Eh? I – what are you talking about?"

"Marie! I can grant you the death of your dreams. It's unfortunate, but you must die. Be grateful. You have become part of an experiment"

"I'm - - going to die?!" cries Marie, tears running down her face. Her tiny body shakes as her hollow eyes stare at the white bed-sheets she holds tightly in her hands "this world - - is too unfair!"

"What do you mean, unfair?" I ask, to keep the conversation going.

"I didn't kill my grandfather. I swear it. Though the judge and jury would never agree with me. They're too high life to care about a lower like me. That gun - - there was something wrong with it. But, working at a lower city second-hand store I handle all sorts of dangerous materials. So why? Why! Why did it have to be papa? He was - - just standing there, and I handed him the gun. He was smiling. He was smiling at me when the gun went off. I didn't - - I didn't mean to! It wasn't my fault! Why can't anyone understand that? Sure, of course he had more money than me. He had lived longer than me so- But I would never - - I would never kill a person for such a selfish reason"

"You're a lower? You don't look much like what I'd expect"

"Yeah, well. Everyone looks the same once they're taken out of context. While we're on the topic, are you high life? Most doctors are"

"High life huh? I've never given that much thought. To tell you the truth, it's been nearly twenty years since I've been lower than the fifth floor of any building. Even so, I like to think I live modestly"

Marie's expression grows dark "You don't know the meaning of modest"

"Bitterness? Yes! I like it. I like that a lot. Bitterness reveals the - - nature of the experiment. Marie, I can use your emotions to create a sort of pathway out of this situation you're stuck in. And death is the ultimate escape. Humans live for far too long. But once I test my drug on you-"

"Drug? What do you mean by drug? Can you really take me away from this place? Is such a thing possible? But - - I'll still die, won't I"

"Think of it as having your very existence erased. By using neuro-chemical drugs I can manipulate your brain to create the most impossible, fantastic dream. You won't even feel the moment of your own death"

Marie wipes her tears away "I – I think I like the sound of that. If you can take me to a place where no one can see, or judge me. I've reached the point where the world isn't a place I want to live in anymore"

I sigh, walking over to the window. We're up so high that I can scarcely see the ground. Is it really possible, that whole other lives exist down there? Are people more than low, or high, or whatever society makes them out to be? Since we all die eventually, we can't truly be so different. That's why humanity has a preoccupation with death. Everyone dies, and once dead humans all reach the same place. Because death is the only place where human beings are all the same, we don't want to be the same as everyone else, and think that by prolonging life we can achieve some sort of victory. Highers have authority over lowers because we have a longer lifespan. We've only just started realizing that there may be some disadvantages with getting a step closer to immortality. Suicide has become a new prestige. We live longer, but see, we're not dying like you. We have control over death, and death will continue to control you. Highers won't die, can't die, refuse to die - - unless it's on their own terms. How ironic that someone much lower than us is going to be the first person to start our movement. I wonder, have I just convinced an innocent woman that she should die?

It's nearly 9:00 when I arrive back at my office after my discussion with Marie. For whatever reason I'm feeling more tired than usual. The human body is such a disappointment. If I could only stay awake forever - - Vivian is there waiting for me. She sits on the small mattress/sofa beside my desk, a stack of papers in her hands. She never actually sits at my desk. Honestly I wouldn't mind. But perhaps it's some prefabricated notion of respect.

"K! I- I didn't know you'd be gone so late"

"Nee Viv, why don't you call me by my first name?" I ask, playfully tilting my head to one side "does it - - make you uncomfortable?"

I'm surprised to see Vivian blushing. Usually she's condescending as hell, so before she has a chance to react I tell her to go make me some coffee "when you're finished you should go home," I add.

Vivian walks over to the coffee maker at the corner of the room.

"So, what did you think of the girl?" she asks, confidence renewed.

"She's interesting. I- I think the experiment will work well with her"

"Oh? I thought you'd have more to say," Vivian replies, as she places a steaming mug in front of me "don't tell me you're having regrets"

Vivian tentatively puts her small hand over mine.

"Does it hurt?" she whispers, following the line of a bandage with her index finger. I make a face, pulling my hand away.

"You should really go home now, Vivian"

"Don't treat me like a child!" she pouts, crossing her arms.

"I'll wait until you finish your coffee"

With a sigh I take a sip of the liquid from the edge of my cup. Mistake. The coffee tastes off. Way off. So I really shouldn't have - -

"Did you - - enjoy my special blend?"

Shit! What happened - - I've been moved from my desk to the sofa. My view to the side shows me that spilled coffee is slowly dripping off the edge of my desk, the cup broken in pieces on the floor. I'm surprised that I can see this small detail through my blurry vision. My glasses are gone. Not fair, I can't see very well. But she's there. I know - - she must be.

I never expected her to go so far.

"It's unusual for me to be so careless" I sigh.

I feel - - so warm. I really just want to sleep now.

I'm aware of a weight pressing against my chest. Vivian's hand? Or head?

"Now we can be together for as long as you want. There's no reason for you to push me away anymore - - Sol" she whispers.

I sigh in irritation, noting the pain building behind my eyes.

"I was already tired so - - if you leave now I won't have to-"

"You can't do anything" Vivian interrupts, putting hand across my mouth "because darling, you can't prove anything. How old are you exactly?"

I feel a sinking feeling, my body feeling ten times heavier than it was before "T-thirty one? I'll be thirty two in April"

My throat feels like I swallowed a razorblade.

"What – what do you want - - Vivian?"

Vivian runs her hand down the length of my arm "I want you"

"No," I beg, as she grabs my bandaged hand "please, stop"

"Tell me you love me" she demands, her fingernail digging into my palm.

"You're seventeen!" I exclaim feverishly.

Vivian tugs on the corner of my bandage, pulling it away from the skin.

"Say it!" she cries "say it right now - - or else!"

"I don't love you, and I've never loved you. You're a child, Vivian"

Vivian says nothing. Her finger brushes against my raw damaged skin, pressing it slightly before she stops. The bandage falls away from my hand in a long spiral, coiling to the floor like a snake. I hear the office door slam.

What constitutes a nightmare could only ever start with a dream. A dream is the notion of something impossible. I've realized that I'm stuck in a convoluted world. Sol - - you are? I am? What am I exactly? A person who's always been alone, with a mind that grew up in a complicated place. I don't want you, so why do you want me? I'm the sort of person who should have never amounted to anything. Why me? I feel like I've murdered someone. You're cold, Sol. Yes, but. At least I'm not the same as everyone else. I don't want to be. So why did you do it? Because of Kuromeru. For the sake of wrong turning into right. Because life is too short, too long, and it doesn't make sense.

I hold up my hand, peering up through my fingers at the ceiling above.

Definitely. I'll definitely make this world a better place.

I can - - control death. I'm not human - - I'll be more than human!

I can - - save people! I can offer them a way out!

"If life can't be what we want it to be - - can death?"

I wake up at 6:00 the next morning almost automatically. The lights are off; Vivian must have turned them off. Whatever happened between us last night has faded into a confused blur. Artificial bluish light projected from an advertisement panel on the building opposite filters into the room through half-closed slats covering the window. My desk is nearly covered in papers stacked in neat little piles. I don't use my office often, since I do most of my work in the lab. The small sofa is my favourite thing in the room. It's covered with a small quilt, and several stuffed animals and pillows shoved into the corners, all gifts from interns and university students who have visited me here. It was a goodbye gift from my mother before I moved out, and I've kept it here due to lack of space, since all I have now is a cheap middle class bed-slot on the 8th floor. And with my salary I could afford a 15th floor apartment. So Marie! I do live modestly. All of my life I was surrounded by extravagance and more wants that I could ever need. Now an adult, I have chosen to lead a more simple life, that some might consider bordering on middle-lower. I take full advantage of all free public services and services offered to hospital employees; requisition meals, clothing regeneration (which I'll explain later) and all the communal amenities I could ever ask for. In the corner beside the sofa is a large potted fern. The rest of the room consists of a filing cabinet, my doctorate pinned to the wall, a few chairs and the coffee maker.

That last one is going to have to be removed.

Don't be surprised if you expect me to be more affected by what happened between Vivian and I. As I mentioned previously, she is insane. Partially. And not the first girl to have her heart broken by me. I can't punish her because she is the way she is. There's no point in torturing the upset and confused. I'll just have to make sure that nothing like this ever happens again. I might even thank her for making my day more interesting. That girl thinks she's outsmarted me. In reality we're on two completely different levels. We're so far apart we might be different species.

At any rate I have to get out of here and start my day. So, like the creature of darkness I am, I open the door of my office with some hesitation and head out into the brightly lit hallway outside. I look around, closing the door behind me. Luckily there is no one around to see me, with my disheveled hair and the clothes I was wearing yesterday.

Actually, hold that thought.

"Sooolll! Ah-ha! Finally, I've 'caught you in the act', as it were. Doing the 'walk of shame' I see. (Though there's nothing to be ashamed of since it's only sex, right? - - Eh!). Anyways! Don't think that you can hide your crime by waking up early, Kuromeru. Someone is bound to discover you. But it's your lucky day because that person is a friend who understands. Yes, old buddy you can count on me, Clive Daily to keep your secret!"

I raise an eyebrow "Actually Clive, I was just working late last night"

My friend crosses his arms dramatically, looking unimpressed.

"Working late my argumentative thesis you were! It turns out that I was working late too, and heard a glass breaking in your office. Sounds like you and your lady friend were having a good time in there"

I sigh "Yeah. Right. You read me too well"

Clive Daily. He works in the office across from mine, and I suppose he could be my friend if you're willing to stretch the definition a bit. Clive belongs to the generation of highers never used to seeing foreigners and consequently being fascinated whenever they saw them. In a society with such obvious hierarchy the bulk of immigrants start off lowers levels unless they are, like my father was, extremely wealthy in their home country. It's rare to see non-white, non-Europeans on these floors, and throughout my life the only weapon I've had against racism and prejudice has been my intelligence.

"En-e-ways, Sol. I'm only here this early because I forgot to lock my office door last night (silly me). I was just about to head to a public bath-house a few floors up from here. It looks like you could use some freshening up. You can come join me if you want to"

I look up at the ceiling for no apparent reason, considering my answer. My choice of company leaves something to be desired. But what should I care? Chances of this day improving are all but shot to hell.

"I would love to" I answer, with a smile.

Daily and I head to the nearest service elevator. We have to use our hospital identification as a sort of card key in order to activate the lift. To get to the 10th floor or higher of any building one requires some sort of authorization. Our hospital owns property on floors 14-10 of this building, and caters specifically higher class citizens. Lowers all live below the fifth floor, some even on ground level, exposed to the high pollution of the open air. It's said that the outside air is better up here, but having been brought up as a higher I generally avoid going outside as much as I can.

It's a short wait until we reach our destination the 18th floor. There's a distinct smell of soap and perfume; that over-saturation of cleanliness associated with our class. But it's nice, because it's so familiar. Being able to walk on higher floors alone gives you a certain piece of mind.

"I've been looking forward to a good hot soak all week!" Clive declares.

"Yes, it's been unusually busy lately," I reply, stuffing my clothes into a nearby locker in the changing room. I wrap a towel around myself and follow Clive to the steamy atmosphere of the men's bath house.

"We're the only ones here," I comment, stepping into the water. The bath room is large. Soap and shampoo dispensers line the tiled walls, along with more kinds of faucets and hoses than you'd know what to use them for. The wall to the left is a window, letting in plenty of natural sunlight.

"Yeah," agrees Clive "usually it's so crowded"

"I don't come here very often," I reply "the complex where I have my bed-slot offers a free shower and washroom service"

Clive laughs at my response. Of course, he's a higher too, and wouldn't be caught dead telling people that he lives anywhere lower than the 14th floor.

"Sol, you're too economical!" he teases "If only I could live like you. By the way, I've been meaning to ask - - I heard that the department recently approved of your motion for human experimentation. Care to share?"

"Yes, well. I found a way around some more obvious ethical issues"

"Hmm? Then you have some limitations already"

"Fine. So the catch is that my drug is the only one that can be tested. And my subjects are more like clients. Most of them will be paying for the drug as an expensive new form of assisted suicide"

Clive seems taken aback, panic playing across his face.

"S- suicide!? Are you serious? I can't think of a-"

"There's nothing wrong with what I'm doing, Clive. It's completely legal, and approved by the department. I've actually been developing the drug for the past several months. It's already ready for testing"

"When euthanasia legislation passed it changed society tremendously. The biggest change was how we stopped having such a religious adoration for human life, above anything else that might be considered important. Can you imagine we went so far as to say that a cluster of cells inside a mother's womb constituted a human being? That's how desperate we were to hold onto our morals. But then, being hypocritical as hell, we would send thousands of men and women over to gulf countries to protect our oil interests, killing innocent civilians along with our own soldiers in the process. Then, back home we're spending millions in the medical industry to keeping the sick and suffering who so obviously want to die alive through increasingly convoluted life support technologies. The euthanasia bill did more than give people the right to die, it finally gave us control over our lives"

"Yes, they called it the life revolution, if I recall. Women got full control over their own bodies. Even healthy people could choose to end it. That was nearly a decade ago. What does your drug have to do with anything?"

I smile "We've changed the way people look at life, Clive. But I want to start changing - - the way we look at death!"

"That's going a bit far, isn't it?!" Clive asks incredulously, rubbing his face with soap. Now we're standing under cold showers. I close my eyes and let the frigid water run over my face. I don't really need to answer Clive. I'll let him think what he wants. I doubt that he fully grasps what I'm getting at anyways. Death is still something that scares people. It's ugly, often painful, and doesn't will itself to be easily understood.

Once we reach the elevator, I say goodbye to Clive and push the button that will take me down to my bed-slot to get a change of clothes. It really is a box. The main complex is a narrow hallway lined with bed-slots stacked in rows and column. Having pressed the button of my card key, home-sweet-home box number 108 slowly slides around and moves down until it reaches ground level. Bed-slots work much like a sliding puzzle, so they're not really stacked, more so suspended over each other. For sleeping space the box is a less than a meter high, with a length of two and a half metres. Behind the box is a cubic meter of storage space, so you have to crawl inside to reach into a compartment behind your pillow to get what you need for the day. Inside I keep a pile of neatly folded clothes and a small box containing some items of personal hygiene. I've been living the bed-slot lifestyle for so long, I can't imagine going back to having any other sort of 'real home.' Sleeping in a bed-slot is something you get used to with a sort of fond familiarity. I'll admit though, it took me at least a week to get used to. When you're ready to call it a day, all you have to do is lie down and flip a switch inside the box. The small side of the box where your feet should face slides closed with a metal grate, to keep you inside while the bed-slot moves to its proper position. From here you can admire the view for a while, or choose to close the box completely to any outside light. Lying in absolute darkness, with little more than an arms length of space on all sides can be daunting, but also relaxing, like sleeping inside an artificial cocoon.

A magazine interviewed me, and it went something like this:

"Our readers want to know how a higher feels living the lower-class bed-slot lifestyle, sir. Is it challenging? Why do you live here? Was it a dare? A matter of honour? Are you trying to cure insomnia?"

(It's true that bed-slots can help with sleep disorders)

"No, I choose to live here of my own choice, and enjoy it too"

"You work at an 10th floor hospital?"

"Yes, I do. General surgery is on the 10th, and other departments like oncology and intensive care are on floors 11-13. I do medical research on floor 14, and I should be getting there now, if you'll let me"

"But! I don't - - understand? Why would someone like-"

"Someone like me? You mean, as a higher why would I choose to live in a bed-slot? That's not really any of your business. It could be something as basic as wanting to live a more simple life. I'm famous for something rather stupid. So you must understand that I want to live a quiet and peaceful life, kindly offered to me by the cheap public services of the state"

"Hey! Wait a minute. Are you that guy who invented the mirror daisy?"

"Yes, it's a synthetic flower scentless and inorganic - - but more realistic than plastic. It feels and looks natural and dies within a week. If you replant and water its dead material, new plants will grow"

"Some call the mirror daisy a kind of artificial life"

"Really, and I thought we were talking about bed-slots"

Most flowers are extinct these days, either that or genetically modified beyond recognition. Along with my graduate paper on the topic of declining biodiversity in the ecosphere I presented the first even synthesized bouquet of kagami hinagiku, also known as the mirror daisy. Except, I think creating the flower completely distracted from the message I was trying to send. I don't mean that we should replace nature with chemical replicas . At any rate, this is how thinking about bed-slots has got me thinking about daisies. It's about time for me to get back to work.

It's 8:00 when I get back to my office. I know I'm late, but punctuality doesn't matter very much in this profession. As long as you're contributing, the department head always says. As long as you're doing something or helping someone. Well, like I've said - - I have already synthesized my drug so all I need to do is make a few adjustments to the final formula before I test it. I don't expect it to fail, since the poison involved has already been proven effective. I didn't invent that component of the drug, I've only modified the concentration so that it works slowly while the subject is sleeping - - and never wakes up.

My assistant is waiting for me when I open my office door.

"Kuromeru! What are-" she stammers "I thought-"

I let Vivian's sentence trail away into awkward incomprehension as I close the door behind me, taking a seat on the sofa. Vivian stands in front of me, looking at the floor and obviously in some sort of emotional turmoil.

"Vivian, I've been thinking," I yawn, making her flinch.

"Maybe it's time to re-evaluate your position here" I suggest casually, standing up to put a hand on her shoulder. I can sense her fear.

"I'm scared!" Vivian exclaims, pressing her head to my chest "I did a bad thing," she cries childishly "I'm sorry. I'm so sorry Sol!"

I put my arm around her "I know. I forgive you - - look at me"

"Take the rest of the day off. Forward all my calls to Clive. I'll be working in the lab today, and you should really be studying today. You might want to think about how sickeningly transparent you're being with this whole college flirt falling in love with her professor act. I really do feel sorry for you. Your split personality syndrome is kind of pathetic to watch, and you're unpredictability is getting more predictable by the day"

Vivian nods silently. It's hard to tell what she's thinking.

"You're cold, Kuromeru," she replies in a carefully measured tone, a complete opposite of the scared girl she was a minute ago "but there was a reason why I was assigned to be your assistant. Our two fates Sol, are tied together by forces beyond your comprehension"

"My my," I sigh, eyebrows raised "you're formidable"

"And maybe just a bit insane? But that's why we're compatible" Vivian replies, sitting on the edge of my desk with her legs crossed.

"Hmm? This is interesting. I wonder how far you would be willing to go to bring your plans to fruition? Would you - - give up your life?"

Vivian gasps, but quickly regains her composure.

"You can't be serious - - " she laughs uncomfortably.

"What life means for you now, my dear, will change drastically if we ever decide to take our relationship to the next level. Think about what it means to give up the life you know for another person. If you reach an appropriate answer I might be obliged to give you a second chance"

8:25. I head directly to the lab. When I open the doors, interns and assistants swarm this way and that like little bugs. I don't intend to stay here long. The main lab is a large part of this floor, which is little more than offices and chemical storage. The open nature of this lab is favoured by the students and part-timers who filter in and out in large numbers over the course of any given day. Rows of black lab benches hooked up with curving glass piping, Bunsen burners, test tubes and beakers are split down the middle by a tile floor which leads directly to the north wall. I'm headed in this direction, towards my own refrigerated storage cabinet. Several are mounted on the wall here, and they can only be opened by a thumbprint recognition device built into their handles. As I walk towards my personal storage unit, an intern is already following me with an empty metal cart as if he suspects I will need assistance. That's a yes and no.

"Dr. Kuromeru!" pipes up an auburn haired girl trying to keep pace with me on my left "are you working on your new project today? We've all been speculating what you're up to. Jason saw you working on your formula just last week actually - - you were dyeing it red! He swears you were"

"And why would I be doing that?" I ask with a half-smile.

"You're working on an experimental drug!" exclaims the boy with the cart, who I can only assume is this 'Jason' person.

"And by denying nothing I admit everything" I sigh sarcastically.

"Can I quote you on that?" the girl asks breathlessly.

Our hospital has a policy of inserting a red plant-based die into untested experimental drugs, to keep potentially dangerous substances apart from more well-known replications and variants. Accordingly my test suicide drug had to be died red. Right now a few containers of the drug and some of its earlier versions are the only bottles lined up in my cabinet.

My experimental drug, dyed red like blood. Like a rat drowning in a bucket of acid. It really needs a name. I'm keeping a few samples of the drug in little jars with easy to puncture tops, like the kind of liquid drugs that can be drawn out directly with a syringe. I've always liked that image of a doctor preparing an injection. They take out a small jar of clear fluid, poking its top with their needle and pulling the plunger up the barrel. Real names for parts of a syringe, I kid you not. This is the sort of drug that is administered intravenously instead of directly into muscle tissue. It will never touch the surface human skin. I wonder if the poison has corrosive qualities. Once its under the skin, poison creates the most fascinating colour. Like a bruise, but more red. The tissue underneath is eaten away. The thought of such things makes my skin prickle. If you have the ability to think of gruesome effects as simple biology the whole world changes.

Holding a syringe in one hand, holding a bouquet of flowers in the other. I'm back down on the 10th floor, to visit Marie. Those annoying kids stopped following me a long time ago. I don't need them to do what I have to do. I narrow my eyes, feeling unusually tired. Might as well get this all over with. I've gotten into a recent mental pattern of telling myself that I'm not a murderer. I'm supposed to test my drug. I'm supposed to induce suicide. Assisted suicide. There's a more scientific word for that, I'm sure.

I've brought Marie some kagami hinagiku, so I can explain to her one of the more complex aspects of my drug. It brings up the corner of my mouth into a shifty looking smile, and I laugh to myself. A part of the experimental drug (let's call it drug X) is designed to reorganize dead tissue. All the materials to synthesize the mirror daisy are already inside the human body. So call it romantic, or call it just plain weird- a dead body injected with drug X will begin to sprout mirror daisies as it decomposes. I'm guessing that cremated remains will exhibit the same behaviour, if planted in soil. Okay, so I didn't exactly include this side effect in my initial report requesting a subject for drug X. Let's think of it as a pleasant surprise.

I asked Jason and Lea to prepare a sample of kagami hinagiku a few days ago, and the plants have matured pleasantly. They're not quite different from regular daisies, other than the fact that they're artificial, they feel and look exactly the same. Of course, I prefer white and yellow daisies, but the advantage of fake life is you can make it any colour you want. I've even seen black hinagiku, which isn't too different from burnt hinagiku. At any rate-

When I enter Marie's room she's completely alone. I'm not even sure if she was expecting me. A patch of filtered sunlight hits her bed, which is made neatly, the sheets laid over her legs and chest. I notice Marie's arms spread out on either side of her. She wears a peaceful expression, and bathed in sunlight looks like a stained glass church saint come to life. When I step into the room and close the door behind me she quickly turns her head, causing her brown curls to bounce off her shoulders as if I've surprised her. She smiles at me when she recognizes my face, and her eyes light up when she sees the daisies. Marie must be one of those glass-is-half-full people, seeing daisies before syringes and roses before thorns.

"Kuromeru! Are those daisies - - real?" she asks, shocked.

"I see you remember my name. And yes, these are real. Or as real as you want them to be" I reply, laying the flowers down on the bed over her knees.

"They're very beautiful" Marie sighs, gazing out the window. I notice her hands still stretched out to either side, as if by force of will.

Or against her will.

"Why are you restrained?" I ask, feeling uncomfortable.

Marie looks down as if ashamed.

"Oh. You know. Remember what happened last time? When I pushed you and you fell on the bed? It was caught on a security camera. The footage must have been reviewed and someone came to the conclusion that I was - - dangerous" she explains, stretching out her fingers.

"I'm so sorry, Marie" I find myself apologizing, slowly slipping the syringe into the front pocket of my lab coat.

Marie smiles, half-heartedly.

"It's not your fault. I'm the one who's a criminal" she replies.

I find Marie's honesty striking. It makes me feel uneasy.

"Well, I suppose if you're not too uncomfortable," I suggest, "we can get started on today's session"

Marie sighs, leaning back on her pillow.

"Are we going to talk again today?" she asks.

I close my eyes, pressing my lips together.

"I need to know that you understand what's going to happen"

"Aren't you going to - - help me die?" asks Marie, so bluntly that I'm left speechless for a few seconds.

"Well, yes. I've been given the opportunity to test this - - drug. I've been developing it for the past few months and now - - well, I've been given the chance to see if it works. I'm supposed to test it on you"

Marie looks off to the side, taking a deep breath.

"What is this - - drug of yours going to do to me?" she asks.

I pull up a chair and sit beside Marie's bed.

"Did you know, I'm the one who synthesized those daisies?"

Marie laughs at my change of subject.

"So they're not really real. That's a shame. You know, I thought real flowers died out years ago. That's why I was so surprised to see these ones"

"They're called Mirror Daisies. Like an image of the real thing"

"Is it going to hurt?" asks Marie, sounding frightened.

"The Japanese word for Mirror Daisy is kagami hinagiku"

"That drug is going to kill me!" she cries.

"There are over 50 varieties of Mirror Daisy"

"I feel like I'm already dead"

Marie looks at me with tears in her eyes.

"Why are you dragging this out, Sol?"

Sol. She remembered even my first name.

"My drug should render you unconscious within ten seconds. You'll fall into a deep, deep sleep Marie. When you're asleep you'll experience the most vivid and colourful dream you could ever imagine. Then, when the dream fades away, you'll go with it. You will die, Marie. This isn't some metaphor or game. This is entirely real, and you have no choice. Your death certificate has already been signed. You're going to die by dreaming. This drug is supposed to help people who want to die, die in the best way possible. It's a suicide drug. You won't feel any pain at all, Marie"

Marie closes her eyes, letting my words sink in.

"It sounds nice" she sighs with a weak smile "like the best way to die"

"That sounds like, how exactly should I put this," Marie pauses, searching for her words "it's like- la mort de rêves"

"Reve - - mort? Revemort? I like the sound of that"

"No that's wrong," laughs Marie "verb goes before subject"

"That's French right? How did you learn French?"

"My family is French. That's my last name. Dureve. It means from dreams. La mort de rêves means the death of dreams. Or by dreaming? I'm not fluent"

I press my face into my hands.

"The death of dreams eh? Sounds wonderful. Everything beautiful is dead already. If it weren't for modern science we would be extinct too, instead of holding onto life like a scab on skin that refuses to heal"

Marie frowns, shaking her head.

"You're just someone who's stuck in a box, who grew up in a world with a box complex. The cat born and raised in a world of lines and squares sleeps, and dreams about a world where circles are possible"

I smile, "we've become quite comfortable, haven't we?"

"So," says Marie "are you going to do it now?"

I close my eyes, thinking.

"I'm going to need an IV line," I reply.

"I have to call my superior and get someone to help me"

Marie laughs "and I thought you were a real doctor"

I need to talk to Clark, to see if I can postpone this procedure. After all I know, I feel like now is the wrong time to end Marie's life. I need to wait until a better opportunity presents itself. There's no need to rush. Maybe, I feel nervous. I can't perform like this. I don't want to admit that everything I thought I knew about myself is wrong. I'm no longer interested in death after life, and all its variations. What was once vulgar, blunt, scientific, and fascinating- it seems empty and I realize that my life has amounted to nothing. Death and life. They are real things in this twisted, rotting world. Control over life is about choice so, all of this must be horribly wrong. What do I hope to accomplish? What new world will death by dreaming create? Won't everything remain in its same dull, uninspired limbo? I don't know if anyone should have the power to control death. Death is an extension of life. So we think that we can control death, and feel like we've reached the final stage of human evolution. Where is Marie, in a world that thinks it can control death? A paradox. Highers live such useless, monochrome lives. There's nothing beyond the highest floor. We are living in an illusion, and creating boxes around ourselves. Some of us sleep in containers, even.

I pick up the receiver, dialing Clark's number. I'm standing in the hallway outside of 101A. Not exactly the most private place, but I'll manage.

My heart is beating loudly in my chest. I've never felt this nervous. I'm starting to lose my carefully shaped facade. This was the cold wall I build around myself. I used to pretend that nothing could affect me, just to keep from getting hurt. Other people didn't seem to understand. I was selfish.

"Moto- - - Clark?"

Clark's voice on the other end is tired and causal.

"Oh? Kuromeru. What's happening?"

I pause for a moment.

"It's - - About my procedure today. I need more time"

"More time?" Clark sounds frustrated "Stop playing around, Sol. You have our full medical staff at your disposal. Do you need help inserting and IV needle or something? Don't act like an idiot. Your drug X has been ready for weeks. Also, remember that this won't be your first test subject"

"Revemort" I reply, with nothing more to say.

"Uh - - what? Revemort?"

"It's the name of my drug"

"You don't have naming rights, Sol. Stop wasting my time. If you can't handle testing a simple drug I'll call someone else down to do it"

Clark hangs up abruptly. I've made no progress. I can't think straight. At any rate, I walk back into the room to see Marie. The cuff that's still on her wrist makes me feel angry and hopeless. The camera in here records motions, but not sounds. We're safe to say anything to each other. Marie smiles as I walk in. Either she's unaware of the severity of her situation, or she's already accepted that she is supposed to be executed. What would be better? Spending a lifetime behind bars, or dying at the hands of the authorities? In most cases, living is considered more important than quality of life. Strange. I can think of a million things more worse than death. Perhaps that's why Marie seems so willing to die. I'd hardly want to live in a world where I was at the bottom of everything, living in an unfair society.

"Did you call in another doctor?" asks Marie innocently.

I hang my head in a depressed sort of way, feeling unprofessional.

"No one is coming, Marie" I tell her, sitting beside the bed.

Marie no longer seems surprised.

"Tell me now," she demands "are you going to end my life, or not?"

I smile bitterly, putting my hands in my coat pockets.

"I don't know what to do" I admit "but maybe I can help you. Do you have anything left in the world to return to? A place without walls or floors? Because if there is no future for you, I'll haveto kill you. And if I kill you, more and more will die. I'll become very successful and make a lot of money. I'll get old and very rich. I'll probably marry unhappily and die lonely. I wouldn't be surprised to see myself committing suicide"

Marie stares at me blankly, considering what to say.

"If there is a future out there for you and me, I need you to promise me something" she calmly explains, "I need to know that you'll never talk about sad and hopeless things. You have to realize the value of your life"

I lace my hands together and close my eyes.

"I'd do anything to leave this place"

Marie smiles brightly, and I see a trace of the optimistic and friendly girl I met just yesterday morning, when I was telling her than death was the only thing that could mean anything for her.

"When I lived down below, my cousin wrote letters to me talking about a new town in the country where society is reconstructing itself. It's a place to start over. I'll tell you how to get there, if you can take me"

"It sounds like quite the plan, Marie"

Marie laughs, looking over out the open window towards the grey city.

"I've never met a higher like you," she sighs "but I think I like that"

This girl named Marie, is a lower and a criminal. I think I love her. Or maybe I want to devote the rest of my life to keeping a smile on her face. I don't want her to be scared. I love her because she doesn't want me. She's not digging her fingernails into my skin like I'm the only thing that's keeping her alive. She's talking to me like a normal person. She's not looking at me like a foreigner or someone with a weird last name. The life I've built for myself no longer matters. I want to escape from complicated concepts, and be free. To be truly free is to not need to worry about right and wrong. You do what feels right to you, and screw the rest of the world. They can't tell you what to be, or what to do. You'll never be happy that way.

I take the syringe out of my pocket.

"This drug is my Revemort" I tell Marie.

"The liquid is red" she says simply "a pretty shade of red"

"It's going to help us escape," I explain.

Marie laughs at me, flashing her beautiful smile.

"Are you going to take me away from this place?"

It's my turn to laugh, and it's a refreshing feeling.

"Hold still for a moment"

AMBIGIOUS ENDING X

Unknown Variable

"La Mort de Rêves"

Right is made into wrong

You trace a black correction

You're a little sick

But not entirely evil

White turns from pink to red

This bleeding heart

Filled with crimson medicine

It's a mirror reflecting

Something more than love, life or death

Such is the World

Here between wrong and right

And more than

Illusion and reality

We are people trapped in boxes

And cats dreaming of circles

What will happen to these lives?

And these stories you've created?

Will they end happily?

Did you answer that question you asked?

When you started writing?

In an imaginary world

"Give up your life for another person"

Are we both alive and dead here?

END (OR?)