Chapter 5
After a long and painful month of waiting, Alana's body could no longer fight, and she faded away into the arms of death, hanging on to life by a thin thread. The doctor approached Nate with the heavy task of making the call to switch off the life support.
Nate's reddened eyes filled with tears, and the pain of losing Alana almost made him double over. He asked the doctor if he could have a moment alone with her.
As he took Alana's frigid hand into his own, Nate's heart felt heavy with grief. He spoke softly to her, pouring out his heart to the woman he loved.
"There's so much I want to say to you, and I hope these words find you wherever you are," he said while fighting back tears.
"I've never had anyone bring out the best in me like you did. I truly love you like no other. I can't let the last things we said to each other be negative and full of anger. I want you to know how grateful I am for our time together."
No longer able to hold them at bay, Nate paused to wipe his tears away before continuing,
"I wish I could be half the artist you are. The things you create are beautiful. That's why I didn't care about the comic. Because you should have been focusing on something else, something better."
His voice shook and cracked with emotion while he took her favorite photo of the two of them on a beach in Florida and placed it into her hands.
He tasted the salt of his tears as they dribbled into his mouth. "What you're holding in your hands right now means we will live forever."
The sound of the doctor's boots squeaking on the linoleum floor broke Nate's reverie, and he flinched as the doctor reminded him that it was time to say goodbye.
Nate looked at Alana's still face, trying to imprint every detail in his memory. "I love you, Alana," he whispered, leaning down to place a kiss on her forehead.
"I hope you find your Heaven."
With a heavy heart, Nate gave the signal to switch off the life support, watching as Alana's chest rose and fell for the last time.
Chapter 6
After Alana's passing, Nate fell into a cloud of shadows, plagued by the claws of grief that refused to let go of him. This darkness shrouded him like a cloak, smothering him with its heavy weight while he struggled to come to terms with the loss of the woman he loved.
Days turned into weeks, and weeks turned into months, but the pain never eased. Nate tried to push the grief away, but it clung to him like a persistent shadow, following him everywhere he went.
His work suffered as well, distancing himself from anything that had to do with his free energy project. The project that killed her, he thought.
Once a driven and ambitious artist, he found it hard to focus on anything, even something like his art. His sketches and paintings lacked the passion and intensity that had once characterized his work. He spent his days holed up in his studio, staring at blank canvases, unable to find the inspiration to create.
To numb the pain, he turned to partying and drinking. He spent his nights in dimly lit clubs, dancing with strangers, and drowning himself in alcohol until his muscles lost feeling and his soul drowned in a sea of despair. But no amount of alcohol could wash away the memories of Alana or the regret he felt for the things left unsaid.
He found solace in the company of other women, hoping that their touch and affection would distract him from the emptiness inside. But every time he woke up next to a stranger, he felt more alone than ever.
The months passed, Nate became a shell of his former self, haunted by the pain of loss and the missed opportunities. His once bright and hopeful spirit had been replaced by a hollow emptiness, and he felt as though he would never be able to escape the darkness that now consumed him.
One morning, Nate was jolted awake by a sudden knock on the door. He scrambled up from the couch, groggily scanning his surroundings. Empty beer bottles littered the floor and coffee table, and a dribble of saliva trailed down his chin. He rubbed his blurry eyes and stumbled towards the door.
He opened it to find his friend AJ standing in the hall, grinning.
AJ stepped inside, arching his brows at the sight of Nate's disheveled state.
"How do you feel?" AJ asked, eyeing him with concern.
Nate let out a hollow laugh and groaned, "Like I'm sweating beer and have sticky bar-broad stank all over me."
"I wasn't talking about your poor social habits," AJ retorted, Smirking. "What's going on with you, man?"
Nate slumped back onto the couch, the weight of the past month pressing down on him. "I don't know, AJ. It's like I'm walking around in a daze, and nothing makes sense anymore."
AJ sat down beside him, placing a hand on Nate's shoulder. "You're grieving, man. It's not easy, but you can't keep living like this."
Nate sighed, staring down at his hands.
"I know, but everything feels so...empty. The only time I feel anything is when I'm with someone else."
AJ furrowed his brow. "What do you mean?" Nate stood up, shuffling towards the kitchen.
"It's like every woman I've been with; when we're in bed together, all I see is her. It's messed up, I know, but it's the only time I feel like I'm whole again."
AJ followed him, leaning against the counter. "That's not healthy, man.
You can't keep using sex to mask your pain."
Nate slammed the lid of his coffee machine shut while gritting his teeth.
"You don't understand! It's like...when I see her, I feel nothing at all. I know that I loved her, and I know that I felt pain after she was gone, but it's like that love that I had for her came back into me and healed my heart. Almost like her ghost saw what I was going through and didn't want me to feel that way anymore, so she gave me my love back."
AJ nodded slowly. "I get it. But you can't just sit here and wait for her ghost to fix everything. You have to take charge of your life and start moving forward. I know you have important things to do, man. No more procrasti-NATE-ing. Turn that pain into something else."
Nate let out a heavy sigh, looking out the window at the bright, clear sky. "I don't even know where to start."
AJ slapped him on the back. "Start small. Go for a walk, clean up this place, and do something creative. You'll figure it out. But you have to try, man. You can't keep living like this."
Chapter 7
That night as Nate fell into a restless sleep, haunted by memories of Alana mixed with AJ's conversation, his dreams were vivid and haunting.
He saw Alana in a dandelion field bathed in a warm light, beckoning him
towards her.
As he approached, she smiled and gently touched his face, and whispered,
"It's time to let me go. You need to live your life again. Find your passion and create something beautiful, and remember I'm always with you," placing her hand on his heart.
Nate woke up with a gentle shock, smiling at the beautiful dream he had just seen and feeling a sense of peace and clarity he had not experienced since her death.
The next day, Nate rose from his bed with a newfound determination. He cleaned his apartment, throwing away the empty beer bottles and taking a long, hot shower. He dressed in clean clothes and looked in the mirror, almost surprised at the man staring back at him; he could have sworn it winked at him.
For the first time in months, he felt like himself again.
Nate called AJ and asked him to come over. When AJ arrived, he found Nate working at his drafting table, surrounded by sketches and paints.
"What's going on?" AJ asked, surprised at the sudden transformation.
Nate looked up, a grin spreading across his face.
"I had a dream last night," he said. "Alana told me to move on and start creating again, and that's what I'm doing."
AJ's eyes widened in surprise. "Well, it's about damn time," he said, slapping Nate on the back. "I always knew you had something special in you. I'm happy you are back to work."
A newly motivated Nate resumed his ambitious project with tunnel vision. He sat at his desk daily, even working late into the night, his determination driving him forward.
However, despite his tireless efforts, his limited education and resources held him back, preventing him from making significant progress in his pursuit of the crystal capacitor.
Frustration built within him until his mind wandered to a memory of
Alana.
"I'm just trying to give myself a voice the only way I know how – through art," she had said, her voice filled with giddy enthusiasm and her eyes sparkling with passion. "Something I can create that will last forever and never be forgotten. My pencil is like a tool that creates biomes, I guess." She giggled softly before continuing while Nate listened intently.
"Anything I think of and write down has the potential to become something real one day. I realized this after seeing so much of the technology we use today has come from ideas and inventions that were originally written about in books or shown in movies. You know what I mean? You see these things all the time. Two examples off the top of my head are the forehead thermometer and the tablet computer, both of which originated in Star Trek: The Next Generation, and that show came out in the late 1980's."
Nate nodded, smirking in amusement as he took a sip of his steaming
morning coffee.
"It just proves my theory; our reality is art-based," Alana declared, raising her chin and stirring sugar into her mug. The rich, earthy aroma filled their cozy living room, enveloping them in its warmth.
"At first, I didn't mean to approach it that way, but now I create with a different perspective and intention. I still enjoy my creations, but now I have different reasons for doing things," Alana continued, her eyes bright with passion.
Nate watched her, the morning sunlight catching in her eyes like blue fire. "So, it's like a thought form using mind and energy to will things into existence," he observed.
"Exactly," Alana replied, quirking her brows. "Like a manifestation body."
Nate chuckled. "Okay, so you're familiar with this. I know that you spend a lot of energy on your art."
"It's a combination of meditation and passion," Alana explained. "I will it into creation."
Nate felt a tear slip down his cheek, his mind wandering to memories of Alana. He tried to push them aside, but they forced their way to the surface. He recalled the image of her sitting at their desk, her golden hair cascading over her shoulders like a Godly waterfall as she sketched, her hands dancing over the paper.
"I wanted to create something special with you so badly that when you told me about the idea for the comic, I knew this was our special moment. I didn't intend to bring DaVinci here. Davinci manifested for me, for us."
Alana's voice echoed in Nate's mind, and nostalgia-filled his soul.
Nate's grip on the computer mouse loosened as he tried to compose himself.
Alana's passion and creativity were contagious, and he couldn't help but be drawn to her energy. He remembered the excitement in her voice as she talked about her dream, her hair disheveled from sleep, her eyes sparkling with inspiration. Nate couldn't help but feel a pang of regret for neglecting her and their project.
He leaned back in his chair, closing his eyes as he tried to calm his racing thoughts.
Memories of their time together flooded his mind, making it hard to focus on anything else. He knew that he had to find a way to move forward and honor Alana's legacy.
He opened his eyes and took a deep breath, his mind clear for the first time in days. He was determined to make their dream a reality, to create something that would stand the test of time.
"I know just what to do," he whispered to himself. "Her ideas will live on through me."
He wiped away his tears and looked at the computer screen, feeling a sense of purpose and determination. Nate knew that he had a lot of work to do, but he was ready for the challenge.
He could feel Alana's presence with him, guiding him every step of the
way.
He smiled, feeling grateful for the time that they had together and the
memories that they shared. He knew that he would never forget her or the passion she brought to their project.
He took another sip of his coffee, savoring the flavor and the warmth spreading through his body.
"Thank you, Alana," he said softly, knowing that she was listening.
"I won't let you down."
Nate let out a deep sigh as he leaned back in his chair, rubbing his tired eyes.
"Now I see that my limitations have boxed me in," he muttered to himself.
"I don't know enough about electromagnets to create this independently. So, I just came up with the most out-of-the-box idea I've ever had. I will use my art to inspire someone with a greater understanding of the science that needs to go into this. Someone with an open mind who is not afraid of radical ideas. Someone who would copy this and create something like nothing on this Earth." His words were like a thunderous discharge through the apartment.
He stared at his laptop screen, feeling a surge of inspiration that he hadn't felt in a long time. He knew that his story would have a life of its own, and he couldn't wait to see where it would lead.
An idea is contagious, even a small one…
Chapter 8
With a renewed sense of purpose, Nate began to type.
'Once upon a time, there was a man named...'
He stopped and stared blankly at the monitor, hunched at his desk, feeling the dryness in his throat, the notion of wanting a drink. God, he'd love a drink right now.
The cool, refreshing feeling. The loosening of his muscles, the haze over his mind. Each was a sensation he craved. But he swallowed back the urge. Nate could not risk slipping down into the darkness of addiction again.
Nate was an artist and writer. He loved scribbling away his designs and ideas. Although, tonight was different. A sober mind didn't feel so creative.
Each sentence he wrote, he deleted. Frustration built, and he let out a growl. So, he decided to change his strategy, hoping it might help.
He grabbed an old notebook and a pen and got to work. He thought perhaps he could write a story based on his sketches.
As the ink flowed onto the paper, Nate felt a sense of freedom that he hadn't felt in a long time. He drew a diagram of his device, then wrote a paragraph, stared at it, and huffed, tearing out the page and starting again, his hand scuttling across the page. He did this over and over until he went to bed after a tension headache began pulsing in his temples.
Sleep came quick and heavy; he hoped he'd awake fresh in the morning, ready to tackle his writing once again.
At the stroke of 3 am, Nate shot awake, his heart pounding in his chest. He had experienced a vivid dream that left him feeling like the Gods themselves had sent him a personal message, a divine purpose.
Outside, the wind sang and wailed like a thousand ghouls haunting an old creaking home, but inside Nate's mind, ideas, shapes, and sentences teemed and jostled for attention.
Realizing his notebook was empty, Nate dug out an old leatherbound journal his mother had gifted him.
This journal was no ordinary book. It had a mesmerizing stone on the cover that he could never decide if it was blue or purple, and the paper was almost ancient in appearance.
"This is the book where you can be whatever you want. Everything you write in here is all about YOU," his mother said with a smile.
"Let your dreams run wild, my child." His words echoed.
Nate's fingers trembled with excitement as he flipped open the journal and found the rudimentary drawings of Da Vinci along with the idea he had for the end of his comic.
"I forgot I wrote this in here," he mumbled as he turned to a fresh page and began to write down his ideas.
The words flowed from his mind like a river, and he felt like he was finally tapping into something greater than himself.
"I've got it," he whispered, feeling a sense of euphoria wash over him. "This is it."
A solitary tear trickled down Nate's cheek and splashed onto the page, staining the ink and making it run like a thousand tiny spores of a spreading fungus. The wet ink bled through the following few pages, and he regrettably ripped them out of his mother's final gift as the thought of her memory was still raw and painful, but he drew in a deep breath and wiped away the next tear, determined to keep going, despite the page being wet from the tear bleeding through.
His hand flew over the pages of the ancient journal, his pen scratching away furiously. His mind, now free of the alcohol, cleared as if he'd been seeing the world in a haze and finally wore glasses.
Sentence by sentence, his writing came to life.
'The motorcycle weaved in and out of rush-hour traffic, its roar drowning out the sounds of the city. The man's heart was beating as fast as the speeding bike, if not faster, from the combination of adrenaline and amphetamines in his system,'
Nate wrote, his words painting a vivid picture of the scene he had envisioned in his dream.
Nate's dream had been of a drug addict on the brink of death who was inspired to change his life and devote himself to inventing the crystal capacitor.
'The setting sun was in his eyes, and it was too late by the time he noticed the minivan in front of him slam its brakes,
With a sense of exhilaration and freedom wash over him, for the first time in recent memory, he felt truly alive.
The wind outside continued to howl and moan, but Nate was completely absorbed in his writing. He was lost in a world of his own creation, a world where anything was possible, where he could be anyone he wanted to be.
For a moment, he allowed himself to dream, to imagine a life where his device was created, where his ideas united people and changed the world.
Nate wrote, his pen moving quickly across the ancient paper.
'The only option this biker had was to veer into the shoulder that was closed due to construction. He flew headfirst off the bike, and everything went dark…'
And then, with a sudden burst of energy, Nate snapped the journal shut and stood up.
"That's it!" he declared to the empty room. "That's the beginning of my book."
Nate finished writing the beginning of his story, and he felt a sense of satisfaction and purpose shower over him. The wind fell silent outside, and the trees stopped whooshing and roaring. Even the windows stopped rattling.
The ink dried faster than his spilled tears, and he stared at his words with a smile, a glint of grim determination, and a hint of frenzy in his hazel eyes.
His mother's words still in his mind.
"This book will make your greatest desires come true if you write them down. Dream wild, Nate."
He had always dismissed her words as a child, but now, as an adult, he realized the power of belief and manifestation.
Nate closed the journal, feeling a sense of excitement and anticipation building within him. He knew that writing this book would be a long and difficult journey, but he was ready for it. He was ready to pour his heart and soul onto the page and share his vision with the world.
With a sense of purpose and determination, Nate stood up from his desk, "This is it; this is my chance to make a difference."