Mayfly

You drag yourself through the front door, tired from pulling yet another holiday shift. You've been with Conji for three years now, despite his tendency to fly off the handle emotionally.

But one look at his teary face tells you something's up. Before you can even ask what's wrong, he's shouting accusations of infidelity, waving his phone in your face.

"How could you.. " he demands, his voice breaking. "I THOUGHT YOU LOVED ME"

You try to explain that the texts he saw were fake, that you'd never do that to him. But he's too worked up to listen, hurling insults and objects at you as his anger takes over.

As you duck and cover, you think back to when you first started dating. Conji's passion and intensity were a big part of what drew you to him. But even then, there were warning signs, the way he'd grill you about every guy you talked to, or fly into a rage if you didn't text back right away.

Over time, you learned to manage his moods, constantly reassuring him of your loyalty. But lately, it's been getting worse. No matter how many times you tell him you love him, he still finds reasons to be suspicious.

You stand there taking the brunt of his anger and begin to you feel exhaustion settle over you. You're not sure how much longer you can keep living like this, always afraid of setting him off.

Maybe it's time to take a hard look at this relationship, and figure out if it's really worth saving. Or maybe you're just too tired to think straight, worn down by the endless ups and downs of life with Conji.

It's Christmas Eve, a day that's supposed to be special. But you're too mentally and physically drained to deal with Conji's outburst. So you simply choose to turn and walk out, slamming the door behind you as he calls out "No wait-"

You decide to stay at your parents' place, hoping some distance will help Conji cool down. But a massive blizzard rolls in, dumping several feet of snow and closing all the roads. You're stuck, unable to check on him. Days pass with no word from Conji, your calls and texts going unanswered.

Finally, the storm clears and you rush back to the apartment. You pound on the door, but there's no response. A sick feeling rising in your gut, you shoulder it open with a crash.

The stench hits you first, a disgusting smell that makes your eyes water and your stomach turn. You gag, covering your mouth and nose as you step inside, trying to breathe through the sleeve of your shirt.

You round the corner to the living room. There, on the couch, is Conji.

His fur matted and dull, His tongue lolls out of his open mouth, swollen and discolored. His eyes are open, but they're a filmy, lifeless white.

His body is bloated, belly distended, clothes straining against his flesh. His legs and arms stick out stiffly at awkward angles. Flies buzzes around him.

On the coffee table, you see an empty pill bottle, its label faded and peeling. A wine bottle lies on its side, its contents staining the floor a deep, sickly red.

He's gone. Conji is dead. And you left him alone.

You wonder if things would be different if you'd stayed. If you'd tried harder to calm him down, to reassure him. But it's already too late.

The last thing Conji knew was that you walked out on him.

---

The cops show up, examine the scene, and take Conji's body away. The autopsy report comes back a few days later, death by drug overdose. Suicide.

Everyone is shocked. Conji always seemed so full of life, despite his temper and jealousy. Nobody saw this coming.

The funeral is packed. You sit in the back, not sure if you deserve to be there. As the pastor drones on about eternal rest and God's plan, you notice Conji's mom staring at you, her eyes red and puffy.

Suddenly, she stands up, pointing a shaking finger at you. "YOU" she shouts, her voice cracking. "I should have never let him stay with you.. you were a bad influence.. I knew you two were having problems, but I thought you were working through them. Instead, you drove him to…to…" She can't finish the sentence, breaking down into tears. Conji's dad tries to comfort her, looking at you with what you can only interpret as disgust.

Everyone turns to look at you. You feel your face burning, a lump forming in your throat. You want to defend yourself, to tell her that Conji's death isn't your fault. But you can't find the words, knowing that they're not entirely wrong.

Conji's dad pulls his wife back down into her seat, shushing her. The pastor continues the service, but the damage is done. You feel every accusatory glare, hear every whispered insult.

You can't take it anymore. Before the service is even over, you slip out the back and head home.

A week later, you get an email from a company called BEACON, specifically their Perpetuum branch. You've heard of BEACON before, everyone has. They're famous for their supposed ability to bring the dead back to life using some kind of advanced technology.

But BEACON is also infamous for their secrecy. They refuse to disclose their methods, citing proprietary information and patient confidentiality. This lack of transparency has led to all kinds of rumors and conspiracy theories about how they actually do what they claim.

Some say they're using illegal cloning techniques, creating soulless copies of the deceased. Others whisper about dark rituals and black magic, or experiments gone horribly wrong. A few even claim that BEACON is run by aliens or demons, harvesting human souls for their own nefarious purposes.

Whatever the truth may be, one thing is clear, the public doesn't trust BEACON. Protests and boycotts have become common, with religious groups and ethicists leading the charge against the company's services. Even those who might be tempted to use BEACON's technology often balk at the potential legal and moral consequences.

You know Conji's parents would never consent to this. They're devoutly religious, and believe that death is part of god's plan. They've made it clear they think BEACON is an abomination, and that anyone who uses their services is meddling with forces they don't understand.

But none of that matters to you. All you care about is the possibility, however slim, that BEACON might be able to bring Conji back, hold him again, tell him how sorry you are.

So without telling his parents, you reply to the email. You fill out the forms, answer their questions, and agree to their terms.

They make it clear that what you're doing is legally grey, that Conji's next of kin could sue you for this. But you don't care.

You have to try. You have to see if this could work. Even if it means going behind Conji's parents' backs, risking everything to deal with a shady company like BEACON.

You owe Conji that much.

---

Three months after you first contacted BEACON, they finally reach out to you. "It's done," the email says.

A man in a suit meets you at the lobby of a nondescript office building and escorts you inside. You take an elevator down, down, down, until you're deep underground. The doors open onto a sterile white hallway. A sign on the wall reads "Perpetuum Wing."

A scientist in a lab coat greets you and leads you to a large chamber. Inside, you see a familiar sight, a replica of the hallway outside your apartment, and at the end of it, your front door.

"We recreated his living space from his memories," the scientist explains. "He's awake. You should go see him." She punches a code into a keypad by the door and leaves you alone.

To them, his memory has been set to a few hours before his death. To him, a few minutes after you left.

You take a deep breath and turn the doorknob. For a moment, you flash back to that horrible day, the stench of death, Conji's lifeless body on the couch. But as the door swings open, you see him sitting on the floor, head in his hands, sobbing.

He looks up as you step inside, muzzle wet with tears, eyes wide. "Y-You..." he chokes out. Before you can say anything, he launches himself at you, throwing his arms around your waist and burying his face in your chest. "I'm sorry.. I'm sorry.. I'm sorry.." he repeats over and over, his body shaking with sobs.

You hold him tight, feeling the warmth of his body, the softness of his fur. He's alive. He's here.

But even as you comfort him, you know this isn't permanent. BEACON's terms were clear, Conji's mind will deteriorate over time under the weight of being brought back. This is a temporary reprieve, nothing more.

You have an hour. Make it count.