"In the end, we only regret the chances we didn't take." - Lewis Caroll

A man in his twenties, who was severely attached to his work was named 'workaholic' of the year by his colleagues. Raised in a small town named New Oakland, he was the type of man that had the qualities of a future leader. When he was younger, he had always pushed aside any events with his friends. With an obsessive attachment to his studies, he was fixated on building his future path. It was his priority over everything else including his friends and family. Nine years later, he had developed his character into what he wanted to become, with his dream job being editor-in-chief in the magazine editing department for the renowned fashion brand, Versache.

Two months close to his promotion, his manager had told him he had a high chance of winning the promotion. But only three days after he had heard the news, his body had failed him and he had passed out from overworking. From working in the city's largest building for over fourteen hours to consistently editing at home for another six hours. It wasn't that he didn't know how to stop and take a break, but more of choosing not to. Work was the priority over everything, yet it had destroyed his body, his social life, and his love life. He had chosen to sacrifice his time and health for work and money, and that mistake had become his greatest regret.

It was barely past four in the morning, yet he was up just over two hours ago, caught in his cycle of self-reflection. By now, he was used to the stark smell of bleach that penetrated his nostrils, the blinding lights that seeped through his eyes and the cries of babies echoing through the hallways, alongside the groans against the whitewashed walls. A few months ago, he had no idea where he was when he woke up. Back then, the room was dull, the uncomfortable hospital bed was padded with plastic sheets, which was seemingly lumpy. The digital monitor would beep constantly with every little movement, the IV line attached to his arm. And now, it still was the exact same and uncomfortable. Three months ago, he had discovered that he was diagnosed with Stage 3 Cancer that was gradually transitioning to the last stage. Regrettably, he had made no effort to check on his body every once in a while until he had fallen extremely ill.

"Why... why had I taken my chances for granted?" he weakly breathed, swallowing hard. "It's too late to do anything."

He blankly stared at his work laptop that sat in the corner of the room, the soft glow of the lights blinking incessantly as if waiting to be used again. He hadn't touched his laptop ever since the first day in the hospital. The day he was admitted to the hospital, he worried more about getting his assigned work done than his own body. When he had heard about his unfortunate and inevitable fate, his jaw had dropped and the lightweight laptop had slipped out of his grasp and tumbled to the ground, the screen shattering just like his physical state.

A small click of the fingers had snapped him back to reality. Before his eyes, his doctor was peering down at him with a small clipboard in hand.

"Why had you not gone and checked it out earlier?" The doctor had asked, shaking his head due to what seemed like disappointment.

"Work," he muttered weakly, "I was busy preparing for my promotion." The man bitterly smiled.

"Thought the symptoms hinted at a plain, old, fever," he continued, "So, I shrugged it off." 

"Do you regret neglecting your health?" The doctor inquired, scribbling something down on his examination papers.

"Of course," The man chortled, in disbelief that a question like that needed to be asked. "Why wouldn't I?"

The doctor had smiled, yet it didn't seem like a genuine one. It seemed as if he had his own connection to the story behind his forced smile. "You have guests waiting for you, and not long remaining." he turned on his heels, pacing towards the sliding door and leaving in exchange for a group of familiar faces.

It was a group his colleagues from his department, flowers in hand and grim expressions painted across their faces.

"Why the long faces?" he smiled, inspecting each one of their faces. "Cheer up, will you?"

His response had only caused a bunch of downcast expressions to darken.

"Mr Kim..." one of the women had frowned, "You can't leave us now..." 

"Yeah, it's too early to see you like this..." his manager had sighed regretfully, "I regret telling you that your promotion was near. It just made you work harder than before."

"I shouldn't have encouraged it." said another woman, "We pushed you too far."

A chorus of nods had appeared, sighing collectively.

The man glanced at all of them, chuckling softly. 

"Don't blame yourselves," he mustered a smile, but spoke weakly, "I didn't listen to you all when you told me not to overwork myself."

As a few minutes pass with their conversations about their memories and regrets, the man seemed to grow weaker and wearier. He listened carefully along as they spoke until sounds were gradually drowned out.

Everything was inaudible until a sound broke the complete absence of sound itself.

The constant waves and incessant beeps on the heart monitor had been replaced with a long, flat, piercing beep that penetrated everyone's ears.

The world was silenced, his vision faded into complete darkness alongside his eyes that were now closed and still. Several hearts were thudding, irregularly pulsating, whilst the one was blank and no longer palpitating. Everything seemed too quiet in his ears.

They all turned their heads towards the one figure in the centre, jaw-slacked as they gradually processed the image right before their eyes.

Within moments, collective groans, cries and shrieks echoed within the room.

Sounds were briefly heard for a minute but were shortly terminated.

Amongst the commotion, the still work laptop in the corner had done something it usually would never do. The laptop lights had brought themselves to a stop. The soft glow of the lights had died down and completely faded with no sign of incessant blinking.