What Comes After

September 4

We created a card all morning. Mira's not a great artist just like May, and her attempts to draw flowers were spectacular failures, looking like cartoony blobs of things that vaguely resembled petals, so I took over. I drew giant sunflowers and little daisies and long stalks of lavender and petite tulips and the pearly puff heads of clover blossoms while she wrote a short message of hope in long, loopy cursive:

Stay strong. Our family is wishing for your recovery.

"Is that too Pinterest-like," Mira said. "I feel like they might think that I stole it from there."

"I mean, it's a little cheesy," I said, and Mira gave me a little push on the shoulder and chuckled. "But it's too late, and plus, one perk of having no internet is that no one will ever find out."

"Thanks for the encouragement," she said sarcastically.

"No problem," I said. "Always here to help."

"Some help," she said and rolled her eyes playfully. "I never understood how people draw so well."

I shrugged. "I can't draw humans though."

"Who cares?" she said. "You can draw flowers, and right now, that's all that we need."

And all of the talk about flowers reminded me of that dream that I had. I had tried making that dream happen again that next day, wishing that I could have a sequel because I need to figure myself out and what better way to do that than through a dream. There are no consequences, and everything's private if I change my mind, and there's no risk of anything going wrong. And plus, dreams are unrealistic and mystical, and maybe that's what I need in my life. Maybe I'll try willing it to happen again, so that I can finally sort myself out.

Sometime around noon, Mira asked Mom if she could go to the hospital.

"Maybe there will be some dental service," Mira said. "If things were normal, we'd probably be getting our teeth checked around this time, and this might be a good chance to make sure any cavities get fixed."

"That's a good idea," Mom replied. "But it's going to be dangerous, especially with flu season coming up. It might be too risky."

"We're going to be in a hospital," Mira replied. "There are doctors everywhere. We'll be fine."

"Okay," Mom said. "Straight to the hospital and back. No detours, no scenic paths, nothing"

"One detour," Mira said. "I'm going to go check the post office to see if maybe I got a letter."

Mom's face softened, and I think she knew who that letter might be from. "Okay. One detour only, but you both better be home in time or else—"

"We'll get grounded for life. We know, Mom. You've said it about a thousand times," Mira said and grabbed a mask and coat. I think even she was getting a bit tired about Mom's whole safety all the time schtick.

"If there are too many people," Mom said. "Don't go there. After what happened yesterday, I don't want you both to get hurt. Just keep your head down and back away, and don't get involved in any fight. We look out for each other first."

Mira nodded even though she probably believed in very little of what Mom was saying, and armed with little more than our lighter taser that was only at around sixty percent battery, we set off to the hospital. The skies were still clear, and there were wispy icy clouds rimmed with pale blue drifting across the sea above us. It's a good thing that this sea isn't trying to kill us.

The walk to the hospital took probably close to an hour or so. It used to be only a fifteen-minute drive, and it would've been maybe a twenty-five-minute bike trip, but Mira said no to that because like Mom said, we didn't want to stick out, and a part of her was probably worried about what she saw yesterday. Even when I close my eyes, I can still see them, lying on the ground and bloodied and bruised, and I could remember that man's hand going towards his wife's, trying to hold hers. I think I'm making that last part up. When you think of a memory too much, sometimes the details get mixed up.

When we were a couple of minutes away from the hospital, we caught a glimpse of the building, a shining steel and glass structure that seemed to shimmer in the sunlight. When we reached there, there was something odd about it, the first two floors filled with light while the rest of the hospital was dark, though there were ambulances everywhere for some reason. I think even they were affected by the electricity and gasoline cuts.

When we entered (the normally automatically opening glass doors needing to be opened manually), an exhausted desk attendant greeted us along with two security guards, both seeming to be barely out of college age.

"Hello," the desk attendant said wearily. "What's your emergency?"

"Nothing," Mira said. "We're just here to deliver a card."

The attendant seemed relieved. "Thank God. I thought we had another landslide victim."

"Landslide victim?" Mira asked.

The attendant looked up, hesitant to answer, before pushing the top of her pen and saying, "Who's the letter for? Are you friends or family?"

"Neither," Mira said. "Our family just wants to make sure that they're alright."

"Description please?"

"Middle-aged. East Asian couple," Mira said. "They might have come in yesterday."

There was an awkward silence in the room. The desk attendant stopped writing with her pen and looked up. "Were they the attack victims?"

"Yes," Mira said. "Is— Is there something wrong."

The attendant looked from side to side. The buzzing of the fluorescent light intensified, and the bright white hospital walls seemed to grow larger as the silence strayed for too many moments too long. She took a deep breath. "They passed away yesterday."

"Oh..." Mira said, and the card seems to slip from her fingers. I was shocked too because I didn't expect this to happen, you know. Except for that time when there was a rampaging shooter a long time back in elementary school, no one has been killed in our city for a long time, and for some people to die in front of our eyes, it's like, just pretty insane. I don't know any other way to say that other than it's just so shocking and so weird and just so unreal. And it just reminds me of the time that I saw the corpse that washed up in the flooded neighborhood, and even in the hospital, so far away from the ocean, I could taste the bits of brine and rotting kelp and death, with a hint of iron.

"I can take the card though," she said. "They might have family or relatives nearby. It'll provide them some hope, that people have still got a shred of humanity left."

Mira handed her the card, and she looked a bit numb and in shock, much more than me. I think it might be because I've already had my run-in with death, but I think there's more to it that I don't know.

"Have they caught the people who did it?" Mira asked.

The attendant shook her head. "The police have long moved on. After their department had their power cut about a month back, pretty much all of them packed their bags and took whatever gasoline they had left and got the hell out of town."

"So they're just let go, scot-free."

"Sadly," the attendant said with a heavy sigh but added with a bit more edge and energy. "But someday, karma's going to get them, but right now, the only laws still enforced are from the people with guns."

"Yeah," Mira said, that word trailing off into the air. "Thank you."

"No, thanks to both of you," she said and picked up her clipboard as the doors behind us opened with a loud squeak, and we could hear the shuffling of heavy footsteps. "Stay safe out there, and make sure to wash your hands often."

After we waved goodbye, I looked back. The saggy eyes, the gaunt face, the thin voice and the way her hands trembled a little as she gripped the pen, I saw all of these with the attendant, the same symptoms that I saw with Charles before I started slipping him food. I wonder if this might be the last time that I see her, and I think Mira knows that too even if her mind is too preoccupied with the couple's death. She seemed like a nice person, and hopefully, if she believed in the afterlife, there would be a nice place for her to go because that's the best we can hope for right now.