"CARPE DIEM"

Written by: Jasmine Mei Shyan Liew

Submitted for the 2022 "The Auricle Creative Writing Competition."

So much can happen in a lap around the sun

365 days. 8760 hours.

31,536,000 seconds. Seconds that began to tick away as sweat stung the man ’ s eyes like tiny vipers; the nape of his neck damp, as his consciousness ebbed away with the pungent, suffocating heat. His hands clutched ever so tightly onto his briefcase, eyes glazed with the watch face As if time had become his captor

He immersed himself into the sleek office chair, finding a moment’s respite. Unphased and unkempt, he slid his eyes to his side, beholding a cornucopia of highrise buildings which lay under the raging sun. Monoliths of grand cities spiralled towards the yellow inferno that moored itself in the blue. There were no more ambulances that erratically offloaded at the emergency bay. No more restless days being throttled awake by the chime of his pager at his perfectly square desk guarding the second ward.

Only brittle silence, a sense of zeal and eternity that gripped the earth And somehow his reflection blurred into the pane of glass at his periphery. He tried to look away.

But he simply couldn’t.

His slicked hair gave way to his sunken cheeks; carving deep crevices beneath his eyes. He was met with this sense of –Hollowness.

He couldn’t remember the last time he smiled.

“It’s been a while. Doctor.” His coworker vacantly stated, “Is Montreal treating you well?” She endeavoured to inject a tinge of interest into the conversation.

“The winter is unsympathetic here Work is a different kind of fun like life is all a movie but one where I’m not given the script and won’t know how it ends.”

His thoughts flitted as she nestled the badge within his hands. He held it against the sunlight that radiated from his desk. Threads of amber emanated from the steel, illuminating the emblem of his once-acquainted institution It was an insignia of their youth the wintry nights in Tokyo, the time they both gazed into each others’ eyes in the pottery studio on Copper Street The first time they splurged on their first taste of luxury three times a week for cocktails at the bar with their fake IDS. He held it close to his heart.

“Thank you. ”

“No emergencies this time. Right?” The grin lingered on her face, perhaps for seconds. And those five utterances struck a chord within his chest Gripped him like taut chains that did not release him at his will Did she remember when they were youthful and ravishing? When life seemed limitless? When it’d seem impossible for him to get a job in the city?

And as the day bled into the night, he cradled the phone, beguiled by the neon lights that surged from the screen in the Uber. His fingers undulated over the keypad as he was warped into oblivion – stultified by the flares of light that penetrated the darkness. The name sounded unfamiliar as it rolled off his tongue.

E - mer - gen - cy He squinted his eyes soon met with a text

“Did u switch off the desktop when u left tonite? ta.”

Disgust coiled within his stomach. Would it have taken too much time and effort to key in an extra three letters to simply express her gratitude? Or to thank him in person?

For a moment, the silence was drowned out by his thoughts Because so little can happen in a lap around the sun.

So little progress. Choosing to remain complicit in a life that wasn’t for him. Money. Fame. The tantalising exterior of prestige. The illusory pursuit for consumerist ideals at the expense of everything he once cherished. Idolatry traits that became a facade. Traits that began to chip away at his humanity. And all that was left within him was this sense of bitterness. Resentment against himself Resentment that was – numbing Like an anaesthetic

Because when was the last time he found true joy in his work? When had he last felt awe or ambition? He evaded the clamour as he sauntered towards Central Station. An hour's walk was far more appealing than chaos, he deduced.

The piercing alarms cut through the murky depths of his trance. His ears pricked at the thunderous, yet sublime hum of engines. His periphery gravitated towards the curve of the vehicle and its vibrant facade, electric against the darkness He considered the ambulance He considered the thought of people being conveyed from one place to another, across towns, cities, borders Across hearts The thought of viewing this lonely world under the blanket of stars – arteries of light contouring the heart of the metropolis. Pinpricks of shattered light marking another house, another family. Another passion. Another patient. Another soul. He considered the mind behind the operating table. The workers who breathed life into the hospice, the hands that sculpted its brick bodice. A timeless euphoria.

He found himself eye-level with the worker adorned in fluorescent, noticing the stretcher poised on left cue

“I’ve done this before. Please. Let me help.”

“Can you grab me the salve?”

He remembered when his fingertips danced away at the microscope in front of his very presence – the four walls of that sterile room He remembered the sensation when his fingers graced the chrome perfection of the scalpel at hand And together, they began to vigorously bandage the man. Like a rhythm. Like a well-oiled machine.

This moment was only a fraction of a lap around the sun. Ten minutes perhaps.

And yet, so much was happening. It was as if liquid adrenaline seeped into every facet of his body As if this was the only way his body truly knew how to speak And as the wounded male was strapped onto the stretcher, his dusty black eyes grazed over the man ’ s body – noticing his dust-laden slacks and blood-stained suit – impetuously overdressed yet perfectly aligned with the occasion. And with all his might, he bared a smile before being hauled into the vehicle.

“Carpe diem”.

“What?”

The worker nodded to the suited-man in deep gratitude, her lips curving upwards

“Seize the day”.

Warmth radiated in his chest. As if the warmth was unleashed from a locked strongbox within him that has burst open – its contents rippling free in a desperate escape. A haloing glow enveloped the starlit night above Jasmine Liew is a current student

He beheld the crimson and magenta hues that caressed the illusion of two moons against the dying sun –resplendent with energy and colour. The Chancellor of the sky, its rays holding the tapestry of earth under its command – even at night. Holding the very essence of life under its authority.

He didn’t blink – didn’t realise the heat that emanated from the badge adorning his chest he gently rubbed at.

Tears swiftly trickled down his folds of skin. It was the most beautiful thing he had ever seen.

He considered the first time he stepped foot into the wards – and the last. He considered the menial click-clack of Cassandra’s shoes as she hovered by his desk to return last week’s payroll, their roving relationship, the sentiment – the ambulance travelling towards the infinite spanse of the horizon. He considered the ephemerality of life – what was of it a lap of the sun ago. All around him was magnificence.

Light, power, space and sun the beauty of it all.