If you've never heard of Cactus and Mirage, I suggest you go find it on Youtube or wherever you listen to Vocaloid songs. It's a really good song, which is why I have written a story about it. But that's all I have to say for now; I'll be uploading on Tuesdays, Thursdays, and Sundays. Only seven chapters, so it won't take long. Enjoy! :)

I walked quickly past that room. It was supposed to be a joyful little room, one where the patients could listen to music played by a girl on a keyboard. She had a nice voice, and the patients would close their eyes and listen, despite their illness or condition.

I had heard her songs way too many times. In this part of the hospital, there shouldn't be much happiness at all. The girl on the keyboard pretended she didn't notice, but I know she did. Her audience would disappear and change over the days. There weren't many who came to listen to her longer than a month.

A nurse like me isn't able to let emotions get through. Happiness, sadness, pity: all inexcusable. The patients sometimes amaze me. It's like they don't know they're dying. Some of them smile, completely believing lies by loved ones that they'll live, that they're going to make it.

I've seen too many deaths to care.

Many other patients are a little bit smarter. They're quite aware they're going to die. They have a pained expression and I sometimes catch one crying.

Most of them in this section aren't strong enough to move. They can't sustain their life without help. I'm an experienced nurse, much to the disappointment of others, so I attend to quite a few people. I'm not exactly liked though.

I knocked on the door of my patient to let him know I was coming in. It was a new one, one that had just been moved to this section when his condition became extreme. He couldn't walk; he just lay in bed. I walked in, assuming by the smile on his face that this was one of the ones that had been lied to.

"What if," he greeted me with.

"What if what?" I asked flatly.

He didn't answer, but stretched out his arm to point to the window.

I rolled my eyes. "Do you want me to open the window?"

He nodded. I noticed he looked really young, but then so did I. I went to open the window, and his smile grew wider, if that was possible.

"You have glasses, like me," he said cheerfully.

"Yeah, but not for the same reason," I said, showing no emotion except for a frown.

"How do you know?"

I pushed my glasses further up onto my nose. "I just do, OK? Now get some sleep."

I made sure everything in his room was OK before leaving. I shook my head as I walked out. He was definitely one of the smilers. I leaned against a wall as I thought about my glasses. He really didn't know about his death, did he? He couldn't. It was impossible to be that cheerful.

I went to go check on another patient, but I couldn't get him out of my head. That room he was in just wasn't big enough. I felt like I was way too close to him when I walked in. His happiness just seemed to fill up the whole room, and I couldn't even feel sorry for him.

I pushed my glasses closer to my eyes again. Why did I wear them? I forget. I just need them. I hurried about my business, and was stopped by another nurse.

"You're needed in room 102," she said, and I rolled my eyes. Mr. Smiley again.

I walked briskly to his room, entering with the same frown as before. "What now?" I asked plainly.

"What if," he said again. I looked at the window.

"What if what?" I asked, annoyed that I was being pulled into his game.

He picked up a paper airplane and threw it in my direction. I caught it in the smallest movement possible, and threw it away for him to see. He continued smiling.

"What if what?" I asked again, more annoyed now, and he shrugged.

I sighed angrily and left the room. This guy was not going to be easy. I always hated the ones that thought they would live. Usually it was the previous nurses that made them that way. I sometimes wish that I was a nurse for the ones in less serious conditions. I wouldn't lie to them.

I realized I was still standing at his door. I looked through the little window in the door. He was still sitting there, smiling like an idiot. I left in a hurry, hoping he hadn't seen me. But what did I care, anyway? He wouldn't know me for long.

I found the nurse that had notified me earlier.

"Did the patient in 102 say why he needed me?" I asked, hoping maybe she knew something I didn't.

"I think he said he had a gift for you."

"Oh," I said, and then rolled my eyes. His idea of a gift must've been that paper plane. I still couldn't figure out why he had said 'what if' though. I was tempted to go back to the room and get the peice of paper, but I immediately shook my head to myself.

I found it hard to pull myself towards each room, with patients who were sullen and quiet, or smiling with false hope. The ones that smiled, they didn't know what was going on. They'd ask me questions, and I'd answer them as pessimistically as I possibly could.

That guy, though, the one with glasses, he didn't ask any questions, did he? Was it possible that...he knew? Did he know everything was impossible at that point? How was it that he managed to smile?

I had managed to smile at one point. I faced death with a smile. But it wasn't my death. Did I really know how much it hurt? I pushed my glasses up again subconsciously. I paced back and forth, from room to room, avoiding 102 like the plague.

At the end of the day, I couldn't avoid it any longer, I had to go check on the patient. To my relief he was asleep, looking peaceful and secure. I shook my head in amazement. Why was I thinking so much about him? He was just a patient.