The IV drip delivers its cold, steady trickle through the plastic tube, snaking into your veins. The clear fluid forms droplets, each one hesitating at the tip before falling – like a patient metronome. The beeps of the heart monitor merge with the ventilator's soft whirrs. Rubbing alcohol, faintly metallic, fills your lungs. Your gaze drifts to the ceiling, where the fluorescent lights flicker as if they're unsure whether to stay or go.
When you're on the deathbed, perhaps you'll ask the doctor to bring you the trophy from that one debate tournament you won back in high school. You'll caress it, rubbing your thumbs over the engravings "1st Place" or "Champion." What a triumph it was! The bigger the trophy, the greater the life. The faint applause of the audience still lingers in your ear. You'll chuckle to yourself, reminiscing about how eloquent your rhetoric was, or the looks of the opponents' faces after you delivered your speech.
When you're on the deathbed, perhaps you'll ask the doctor to bring you your SAT score. Would you look at that? A 1500! 99th percentile! You sure were a genius. You re-enact the moment you first clicked on your score. Using your prodigy-level math skills (as confirmed by your high math score), you conclude that being in the 99th percentile means you got a 99% on the test.
When you're on the deathbed, perhaps you'll ask the doctor to bring you your last paycheck. You'll sigh with pride while also sounding overly pretentious. All those hours you spent at the office, neglecting your family, polishing PowerPoints until your eyes watered and the screen burned bright behind your eyelids even when you tried to sleep – they were all worth it in the end. Maybe they'll etch this number into your gravestone alongside your 1500. Here lies someone who was worth six figures a year.
When you're on the deathbed, perhaps you'll ask the doctor to bring you your car keys. A happy tear may fall as you think about your prized Tesla Model X. After all, what's the point of making all that money if not to own a car that has a futuristic steering wheel and auto-open falcon doors? You'll recall the touch of the smooth leather seats and the looks of admiration – or was it envy? – as you glided through traffic.
As the ventilator's hums begin fading and the fluorescent lights finally decide to go, you'll smile – because even at the end, life was all about keeping score, and you won.
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