"What's with that?" I asked.

"You are ruining the mood every time you suddenly talked about death randomly," Her eyes are rolling like barrels rolling down the hill. "I mean, you're alive and are talking with another living being."

"Ah, okay, noted. I will talk with the dead later on." 

"That's not what I meant!" She shouted. Her face isn't that angry anymore, it's still red but it's more like sad. Her eyes are building up crystal that can break any moment without her knowing.

"Listen, I wasn't trying to ruin the mood or something. It's just came out of my mouth." My cigarette is burning weak, asking for me to suck it soon. But I don't think I'm going to suck it any sooner.

"You're alive! Cherish it for fuck's sake! You're breathing, you're eating, you're shitting and most of all, you're thinking! We both know you seem never stop thinking! Cherish it, god damn it! What the hell is wrong with you? Can you just enjoy the world and not be gloomy for once? For just a fucking second of your day. I ..." Her words are choked up, there's a traffic jam inside her throat and a authoritative checkpoint in her tongue. She cries.

"I ... Just want you to be happy. Again. You weren't this dark nihilist and irritating bastard, you were a sun!" She weeps for another man's life, not hers. What a pain in my arse. And I think, I should let my cigarette dies on its own.

"Yes. Yes, maybe I was. But you know me, you know what I've been through. Some day in the future, sun will also burn itself out; there'll be no light. But the sun won't just give up, he'll try to find its oxygen and things to burn and lit himself up again. Then he'll realise that if he's starting to crave for oxygen and things like crazy to burn, it'll also burn the other things that specifically revolved around it; the very things he wanted to protect and live for. So, do you know what he'll do? He'll pick every part of himself, every inch of every things that made him, he'll rip his body bits by bits and burn them all out to that little ember of will he has." For once, I look at her amidst my long arse rant. She looks like Mother Mary when she heard his newborn son suddenly talked.

"I'm sorry," I said. "Most times, I just want to die. The thought is engraved within my head. I contained it, but some thoughts are just slippery bastards. I never want to kill myself again, but I won't be complaining when death comes unexpectedly; sometimes I'm expecting it. I cherished life, I loved my life, I tried my best but endurance is something limited. Everytime I talked about death, no matter it's a joke or delivered with my serious tone; it's my way to cope with the slipping thought, to not literally killing myself or arrogantly inviting death."

"I'm sorry," she said. "I'm sorry, we couldn't be there for you." Another three figures are appearing behind her back, they're all looking down on me with pitiful stares.

"It's not your fault that you're dead. I'm ok, there is nothing to worry about me. You guys can go." I lit another cigarette, the other one is already gone, dead on the ashtray.

"We love you," She said. "And we'll always watching over you, little bro." All four of them are smiling now. They're walking back slowly as if they don't want to take their eyes off me. Always watching me, they said. They keep walking back until the sunlight shines on them and in a split second, gone to far away garden.

"Fuck," I said. Cigarette is burning weak. I cry. And I think this cigarette also needs to die on its own.