"Well, furthermore, the fight for freedom of course includes that everyone can believe in what they want and wear what they want accordingly. A cross, a hijab, a rainbow T-shirt, or gothic clothes... I don't care. As long as they don't force it on others and don't make restrictive laws for others based on their belief in fairy tales, or attack them, then I have no problem. Because faith, by its very nature, is not a fact. Besides, only the number of believers separates delusions and religion. So if 4,000,000 people suddenly started believing in a great mighty asparagus, we'd have to call it a new religion.
Then, of course, everyone could say what they want without censorship, but if they incite violence or spread false alarmist news, they must also expect consequences. The freedom of the individual always ends when someone else's freedom is at risk.
Besides, I don't understand why social networks opted for deletion rather than checking the truthfulness of statements. It would be so easy to implement. We have machine vision, we can recognize two identical posts. So it's enough to verify the truthfulness of one copy of it.
New things would have a gray frame around them, confirmed things a green one, disproven lies a red one, and unverifiable statements a yellow one. Plus, there would be a link next to it to the proof, and that's it. Social networks already know who's looking at what, so then a person would just get a notification that the post they saw three days ago was marked as a disproven lie, and here's the link. And that's it.
At least silent conspiracy wouldn't germinate among people, from which an unnecessary uprising could arise, that we have censorship of information. That's my concept of freedom. And I would fight for that day and night. If I weren't here with you gentlemen, no offense." Then he exhaled loudly and asked: "Well, and what would you fight for?"
That whole explanation, that was something they didn't expect from the old man. And it definitely engaged him and awakened a fighting spirit in him.
"Well... I have a girlfriend, she's a nurse."
"Very pretty," the second paramedic added.
"Qui-et," the first one sharply rebuked him, but then he smiled slightly and continued:
"And she's only in her 3rd month. I would break the hands of anyone who would want to touch those two. I'd make him an invalid. Yeah, I would fight for those two, so that nothing ever happens to them."
"That's nice that you're in the same field. ... Heh, they used to call a priest, and now they call a paramedic. And I'll tell you, it's an improvement. The quality of the conversation has gone up significantly." And then he coughed briefly.
"Are you okay, grandpa?" the second paramedic was concerned.
"I'm fine."
When they arrived at the hospital, they took him for various examinations. They didn't find a serious clot or a heart attack, they just saw on the EKG that his heart was constantly weakening. And what can be done about it? Old age, that will be on the death certificate. And by the time they did all that, all those tests and examinations, some time had already passed. When they ceremoniously found out that he was simply dying of old age, it was already half past six, and his condition was much worse than a few hours ago.
So they transferred him to a room in the hospice, which was right on the hospital grounds, in the next wing. The room they chose for him was a double room, but there was no one in the second bed at the moment. The nurses deliberately chose that room so that the family would have privacy there.
As Michal lay there, he still had suction cups with cables leading to various devices on a stand next to the bed attached to his chest. On the right side of the room was a window with open blinds and a view out onto a small park with a parking lot and other hospital blocks. In front of Michal was a television on the wall, and to the left was the mentioned empty bed, on the edge of which Robert and Tereza were now sitting. Tomas, Klara, and Dan were standing right next to them, and they were all watching Michal.
"I wanted to ask, since we're KILLING time here, you probably didn't take the bundt cake with you?" Michal said. He made a joke. Well, what else was left for him. But when he said it, he sounded exhausted.
"No, we... no," Klara answered him slowly.
"But it doesn't matter," Michal immediately comforted her, so that Klara wouldn't feel bad by chance. Then Michal looked towards the window. It was no longer raining outside the window. There were only torn remnants of the former storm clouds in the sky, from behind which the orange-ish evening sun was peeking out. Michal managed another strange joke:
"In 'Grandmother' by Božena Němcová, they opened the window. But it doesn't look like that here, so I'll probably be haunting you." No answer. Then he continued:
"We can take it as a scientific experiment, if something pulls your leg at night. The existence of the afterlife will be proven, and in that case, you should quickly start doing good deeds." The only one who was a little amused by this was Dan. When Michal saw that it at least made Dan smile a little, he added:
"We can make an agreement, Dan. Right hand, Christianity, left hand, Judaism. Left leg, Islam, right leg, Buddhism. And if a mosquito bites you at night, then Hinduism wins. Although... wait, a mosquito isn't a good animal. What if some random animal bites you. Hmm, I still have to think about that. I'll probably have to choose some animal. I don't expect anything extraordinary... hmm... a mole. That would work. I could make a molehill in front of the house overnight."
The rest of the family didn't get it. No wonder, it was a sad event. However, Michal had known about it for a damn long time and was completely at peace, while everyone else was hoping for a turnaround until the last moment. But Michal's approach might have at least relieved the family members a little, when they saw that the old man was at peace with everything and even in the mood to joke. Or they might have thought that he was really out of it, what was going on around him.
From Michal's point of view, it made perfect sense, and that was to enjoy even the last bit of life he had left. Why be sad, right? He literally has a limited time, he knows it. He knows when it will happen to him. Exactly at 7:00 PM. That's what the nanobots that had been artificially keeping him alive for the past few years were programmed for. So he has at best only a few minutes left. The last few minutes for a last message and last words of wisdom to say goodbye, and he started right away. He said calmly and seriously:
"E-chh... Yeah," he sighed, "I want you to remember that I really appreciate that you're here with me now."
"We're also very glad that we can be here with you," Tom replied. Michal took a deep breath:
"It's going downhill with me, folks. I think I only have a moment left, so please listen to what I want to say. No matter how you live your lives from now on, be proactive and enterprising. As long as you're alive, you have a chance to help change. Even if you're already 70, Robert, Terka. Even if you lose everything. I knew a case where a homeless man here in Prague at the Main Station prevented the suicide of a fifteen-year-old boy, precisely because he was homeless and was thus in the right place at the right time.
You know, this small country doesn't have an army or who knows what natural resources, it only has people and their potential. And when you help one person, it has a domino effect.
I also knew a girl, they found cancer in her at sixteen, and after a year and a half, she lost that battle. And there are far more cases. Besides Dan, we all actually have our years as a bonus. There wasn't good enough treatment back then. That's why I want to kindly ask you, as long as you're alive, you have time, and therefore support education and development. That's the only thing that can save us as a civilization.
Nature is already so disrupted that it can't do it itself. On the contrary, it would like to get rid of us to get relief. It's beautiful but unfair. What will keep civilization going is knowledge.
Knowledge is also power. The greatest. Information that others don't have opens doors, and know-how wins wars, even if it doesn't seem like it at first glance. The Enigma code. The atomic bomb. The more a person knows, the more powerful he is. It's clear that we all have some personality flaws, and therefore, if you don't want to educate yourselves for others, do it selfishly for yourselves, to be better and more powerful than everyone else. It doesn't matter what your reasons will be. If you help someone with it so they don't die before they even reach adulthood, then it's okay.
"But... that brings me to the second piece of bad news I have for you today. I didn't want to tell you at first, but now it just went through my head again, and I think that at least now you'll know why I decided to do it.
You see, I have some money in the bank that you should properly receive as an inheritance. But I decided that 95% of it will go under the supervision of a notary to finance various scientific projects, and only the remaining five percent will then be given to you as a kind of farewell gift. Buy something for yourselves with it, as if I bought it for you. It just seemed to me that it would be better to put that money into the development of new medicines and machines, where they can serve far more people, and especially those who are not so lucky and are seriously ill. I believe you will understand."
"Right?" he said quickly after that, and slightly anxiously, when no one said anything.
"Uh. Of course," Robert assured him, while he was sorting it all out in his head. Michal was breathing rapidly.
"So. Okay," he let out as if he had run up a steep hill. Robert immediately moved:
"Are you alright?!"
"No," he smiled in exhaustion. And then he took a breath for each short sentence:
"I'm dying. My heart is weakening. You know that. A little tension. And I can't catch my breath anymore. And then. With that monologue, I used up. A lot of air." Then he looked at the clock. It was almost his time. He cleared his throat briefly. He felt fatigue creeping up on him in giant leaps. That long talking had completely exhausted him, and it was getting worse every moment. Now that he had finally uttered all his thoughts aloud, he gained greater peace, and the symptoms of dying intensified.
Then he looked at his right hand and at his silver ring placed on his index finger. He told himself that he wouldn't delay it anymore, and so he began to slide his thumb over the ring in various ways and soon tapped some rhythm on it. However, all this remained more or less hidden from the relatives. Because they were sitting to Michal's left, and their view was blocked by the edge of the bed and Michal's body. Both grooves on the ring immediately lit up light blue, and Michal, just to be sure, hid his right hand under the blanket at that moment.
After a while, Michal just saw a faintly glowing lightning-like pattern climbing up the inside of his forearm. By then, death was already, figuratively speaking, knocking on the door. His blood pressure was dropping. He felt like the blood was draining from his legs. They were getting cold, and he was losing feeling in them. It was all lulling him to sleep. Constantly growing fatigue. It was such a feeling of pleasant exhaustion. One would just like to close one's eyes and go to sleep. But he knew what it was really about, and so he tried to resist it internally with all his might.
Michal looked at the whole family once more, and a touched smile appeared on his face. He was taking it really seriously now.
Michal was slowly starting to run out of breath, and each subsequent word was getting harder and harder for him to pronounce. It was strenuous for him to keep moving with that row of muscles around his mouth. It would be most comfortable not to say anything anymore, yet he still uttered: "Have a wonderful life, live so that you don't regret anything later. If you want to do something, do it. I lived like that and," he became uncertain, he wasn't completely sure of his words, "I don't regret anything. So, goodbye. I feel like now is the right moment."
The fatigue was starting to be unbearable, and any normal person in such a situation would not struggle, but would close their eyes and rest. But Michal knew that if he fell asleep now, there would be no sleep waiting for him from which he would ever wake up, and so he instinctively tried to delay that moment a little bit.
He tried, but the body had its own mind. It was as if his whole body was falling asleep and only his head was still awake. It seemed as if a dark, calm shadow was spreading from his feet and then from his hands towards him. Calm, empty, black nothingness. Where that shadow passed, darkness remained, and feeling disappeared.
That shadow extinguished the whole body like when a person turns off the lights in the house for the last time before moving away. Like when an entrepreneur ends his business. Like when an employee retires after decades of work. It wasn't scary, maybe just a little melancholic. In the past, he had had plenty of time to prepare for it and come to terms with it. It was indeed nothing more than a stronger and more intrusive sleep.
At that moment, the relatives' eyes began to moisten. It was heartbreaking to see the old man being abandoned by life second by second. Everyone was looking at the old man's face so that they wouldn't miss any detail, since they would never see him alive again. Michal began to nod off, and the relatives, meanwhile, through their moist eyes, were already starting to have trouble seeing Michal clearly.
Before he completely succumbed to sleep, only his last message came out of him with a slight movement of his lips.
"I'm going to the stars-," and he stopped fighting sleep. He relaxed and let his eyelids close on their own. On the display of the adjacent device, it was visible how his heart rate clearly and at a steady pace slowed down, slowed down, and slowed down until at one moment it dropped, and the whole room was filled with one clear, uninterrupted tone. The dark shadow of death threw itself into his head and blew out the remaining smoldering light of life in it. Only an orange-glowing ember remained in its place. The last bits of energy of the cells and unused oxygen in the veins. The last dream. Many claim that a person's whole life is replayed during this.
Perhaps the glowing ember of the rest of life gives all the memory cells one last chance to shine. Perhaps each cell glows hotly for the last time when it ejects a memory into its surroundings and burns out. Like a tiny firework, and not just one, each of them. It shoots out a memory and perishes. Perhaps every person ends so nobly.
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