Scientists have created the perfect conditions for eternal life, but they can be maintained only within a certain area dubbed the "Eternity House": a small two-story building in the center of an underground lab. Its inhabitants can venture outside, but for no longer than 24 hours. Otherwise, the Eternity House's immortality effect will be permanently lost. One young resident, raised in the house since birth, yearns to venture outside.
Until a certain day when his first trip outside seemed to be the last.
And now, from the safety of the Eternity House, I tell the story of a love supreme:
of an ordinary man and his darling wife.
Sadness poured through him like a waterfall, washing away all doubt that he was not dead. Drowning in the sensation was almost comforting. But then he heard a tinkling sound and felt a tug at his hand, and he awakened.
Where am I? Was I dreaming? He opened his eyes to slits, but all he could see was bright shining light. His mind rebelled against the brightness and urged closed eyes. When his mind regained some coherence, he forced his eyes open. He saw a white ceiling directly above him, but it was too bright to see the details.
"I am not dead," he said, and the sound of his voice broke the second illusion.
He was far away now, floating above the scene of his awakening, watching the dream that had just shattered.
He was in a hospital bed. He said, "I am not dead."
But, if he was not dead, then how did he get here?
He saw something move to the left of him, and he turned his head. Standing beside the hospital bed was a young woman. A hospital technician, he realized, must have lowered the blinds and left. The woman smiled, putting her finger to her lips, if he hadn't already heard. The gesture and her smile seemed familiar to him. "I know you," he said.
"You do," she said, and she stepped closer to the bedside. "We don't know each other, but we are close friends."
"I know that voice...." He thought, but the thought turned into a question: "What is my name? What is your name?"
"I'm Marceline Jones," she said.
"What is my name?" he said again.
She told him.
He thought for a moment, his mind blinking close and open like a failing television set. He couldn't seem to concentrate on a single thought, though. Nothing was sticking. A sudden blast of cold air brought a surge of memories, but the memories were scattered and slippery.
"I had a name," he said. "Short. Three syllables." But he could think of nothing that fit. "Short. Three syllables." He said it again, and she nodded. "That's your name," she said.
The man took a while to realize the meaning of his awakening. The strange memories running through his mind made it difficult to concentrate. But at last, he found it. It was all starting to come together.
He was in a hospital. And he wasn't dead. He was not dead.
His body ached all over. His muscles tired. The wounds he received in the war seemed to have been healed. But the pain...
The pain overwhelmed him now, but he was able to force his thoughts away from the pain.
Marceline left the room just as he completed the puzzle.
He tried to close his eyes to rest, but they refused to obey his command.
He wanted to rest, but he wanted... to think.
He wanted to absorb the facts.
"Marceline was my wife," he said aloud. "She is... my... wife.