The following journal entries detail the thoughts of a terminally ill boy during the last few days of his life.

Entry 1: All the books tell me Earth is a beautiful place, our little blue planet, one in a billion in this universe. Vivaciously brimming with life, with colors bursting from every crevice. I think my world once resembled the words on those worn pages. What a shame, that I can’t remember. The skies outside my window are dull gray, the hospital walls a blinding, eerie white, and all the faces a dark blur. Had they been lying to me all along? 

Entry 2: I’m dying. I’ve been dying for years now, but now I’m truly at death’s door. Everyone’s too polite to say it out loud, but I see it in their eyes. How strange. I had thought death was scary. I should feel something — fear, sadness, regret — but nothing comes to mind. I suppose feelings, like colors, are only a privilege for those with a life yet to live. 

Entry 3: Mom and Dad just heard the news. It’s the first time they’ve come to visit me in months. I was doing fine when the only hint of their existence was the steady stream of checks to the hospital. Why did they bother? Reputation? What a futile thing to chase after. Everything is futile to chase after. We are all running toward death anyway. 

Entry 4: There’s a boy in the ward next door. I don’t know his name yet, but I see him in the hallway sometimes. He’s always smiling, like he’s got some secret the rest of us missed. I’ve watched him sit by an old woman’s bedside, holding her hand and laughing at something she said. She must be his grandmother. The nurses whisper she doesn’t have long, like me. Why is he smiling then? 

Entry 5: Today I asked for a mirror. The doctors were surprised, but indulged me. I tried to smile. I really did. That boy made it look easy, so perhaps I could do it. It didn’t work, though. I was a fool to try. 

Oh, that reminds me. I think the mirror was pink. 

Entry 6: Today, the boy caught me staring. Instead of ignoring me, he waved. A big, ridiculous wave like we were old friends. I didn’t wave back. I just looked away, pretending I had something better to do. But later, when I closed my eyes, I kept seeing his smile. It wasn’t mocking or pitying, just . . .  genuine. I don’t get it. How can he be so happy when his world is about to fall apart? Shouldn’t his world be colorless, too? 

Entry 7: Oh, I think I know what secret he hides behind his smile. It’s called hope. 

Entry 8: His name is Ethan. He introduced himself today. Apparently, his grandmother’s room is right next to mine. He asked if I wanted to play cards. I said no, but he pulled up a chair anyway and started dealing. At first, I wanted to tell him to leave, but his chatter filled the empty space in my room. For the first time in a long while, the silence wasn’t suffocating. 

And the world wasn’t so colorless. 

Entry 9: I think I saw blue today. Just a faint tint in the sky through the hospital window. It was . . . startling. Ethan was here, as usual, cracking jokes about the hospital food. I laughed. It felt rusty, like a machine that hadn’t been used in years. But it also felt good. He told me about the time he and his grandmother got stuck in a rainstorm and danced in the puddles until they were soaked. His eyes lit up as he talked, and for a moment, I wondered what it would be like to have memories like that. To have something worth smiling about.

Entry 10: Today, I worked up the courage to ask Ethan what color the sky was. I thought he would laugh. After all, what are the pleas of a blind man to one who can see all? But he simply cocked his head, gave his signature smile, and said the sky was the color of a cool breeze on a hot summer day. What a ridiculous answer. I looked out of my window to prove him false, only to find a pale blue tinging the sky. For some reason, I couldn’t rebut his words. So I asked for more. I asked the color of the tables, the grass, the walls, the beds, and everything in between. As the hours passed, the answers only became more ridiculous. 

But I didn’t mind.  

Entry 11: Colors are creeping back into my world. Barely visible, so pale, I can almost believe they are an illusion of my mind. The pastel green of the hospital scrubs, the golden streaks in Ethan’s hair, the pink blush on his grandmother’s cheeks when he tells her he loves her. There are many other colors, too, shades and tints I have long forgotten the names of. Maybe Ethan will know their names. Maybe he will help me remember them.

Entry 12: I coughed up a lot of blood today. It caused quite a fuss, with nurses and doctors going in and out of my room all day. But staring at the bright red droplets on my bedsheet, I could only remember Ethan’s laughter echoing when he told me about the time he had accidentally drunk his grandmother’s wine. Despite the surrounding chaos, I laughed. I received many pitying looks for my laughter. But I kept laughing, like a madman. 

It simply felt . . . so good.

Entry 13: Ethan scolded me today, when he heard about my bloody affair. Said I should take better care of my body, drink the medicines that were given to me, and cooperate with the doctors. That was annoying. Why do I have to do that? It is too tiring. It isn’t going to change anything. I told Ethan that. He seemed quite angry at my words. We had a heated exchange that ended with him stomping out of the room. 

For some reason, the colors seemed a touch dull today. I wanted to chase after them. Beg them to stay. Yet I couldn’t muster the strength to even whisper my wish to the wind. 

Entry 14: Ethan came in and apologized today. He said life was far too precious after you have lost so much. I didn’t quite understand what he said, but his words kept me up tonight, wondering about the strange stirring in my heart his words evoked. What is this gnawing hunger, burning desire, which creeps under my skin? 

It irritates me. I want to know. I want to scratch this itch. 

I want to live long enough to find it. 

On a side note, the colors seem much brighter today. 

Entry 15: Today is the day I am going to die. I don’t know how, but I can say with confidence rivaling Ancient Greece’s best seer that I am going to die today. My heart is constricting, beating faster than usual. My stomach growls in agony, the bile climbing up my throat. My fingers tremble as I desperately scribble these words, and my thoughts are sluggish. Every part of my body aches, mourning their last hours. 

Yet for some reason, my eyes, which have been my longest ailment, seem to be working exceptionally well. The world around me is startlingly clear, exceedingly bright. Its colors are vibrant, reminiscent of the picture books I used to read as a child. Almost as beautiful as the books say. Gazing upon these newfound sights, I realize what desire has been festering in my mind since the minute I saw Ethan in the ward next door. For the first time since I entered this hospital, I want something. 

I want to chase after these colors. I want to see them all. 

And suddenly, the whole world is alive. 

The boy’s pen drops out of his hand as he stares in wonder at the world his eyes had long forgotten. A world no longer fading in drab greys and blacks and whites, but a world as unique and thriving as a one-in-a-billion world should be. A truly, marvelously, perfectly colorful world. 

Oh the irony, for death to come when life has just become so beautiful. 

Oh the joy, to be able to witness this again. 

When he crumples, his body no longer strong enough to sustain him, there is a smile on his face. 

Ethan, did you know? I can see again. Thank you for giving me your eyes when I was blind. Thank you for gifting me color.

Ethan’s Entry: To my dear friend,

I lost my grandmother today. She passed peacefully, holding my hand. I cried for hours, until I was gently escorted away. I really didn’t know what to do, so I wandered to your room. You were the only one I had left. But when I came, it was empty. I ran frantically throughout the hospital, only to find you here, in emergency care. How can you look so peaceful at death’s doorstep? Are you going to leave me, too? How sorrowful. If everyone around me is so determined to leave, perhaps death isn’t such a bad thing. Should I try it too? I’m thinking pointless things again, just as pointless as reading this out to you, who cannot hear me at all. I’ll leave now, and give you the peace you desired so fiercely from life. 

Oh, one more question, my dear friend. What color was the sky again? 

Entry 16: I don’t how it is possible, but I heard Ethan’s words today. His voice cracked as he read aloud his thoughts. My soul cracked with it as I heard his usually cheerful voice turn sorrowful. Then he asked me that question. That question, which had haunted me. A question that should not have come from a boy who had loved life so dearly that his love was infectious to those around him. I thought I had resigned myself to the fate of death, had been grateful enough to regain my sight. But it wasn’t enough. It will never be enough. 

I want to keep fighting. For the joyful boy who gave me color, I want to give back the same. For the scared little boy who entered the lonely hospital wards so many years, I want to show that the world isn’t so lonely and cold. For the lively world I exist in, I want to cherish life. 

I . . . don’t want to die. 

I want to live.

The flatlining heart monitor began moving again. 

Final Entry: Life is driven by the desire to live, a quiet force that shapes our state of mind and colors the world around us. When I met Ethan, I thought my world had faded, but he taught me that beauty is everywhere — in laughter, in kindness, in the memories we create with others. Colors aren’t just in the sky or the grass; they’re in people, in the connections we share. Our state of mind isn’t fixed — it’s painted by those who remind us to see, to feel, to live. And now, as my heart beats stronger, I see it clearly: the world is a masterpiece, vibrant with meaning. Life is worth fighting for because its beauty lies in its colors — and its colors lie in us.