Sloth

Chronic fatigue syndrome. Sluggish cognitive tempo. Depression.

Maybe they're right, maybe not. She doesn't care to confirm with the medical specialists, nor does she bother about her health status. Her stepmother is worried sick, her dad a drunk mess, her baby brother oblivious to her existence. What a hectic world.

The schedule doesn't end there, no. Regular therapeutical preachings: an hour with this, then the next with that and so on. A slew of voices keep playing in the background, again and again, so much so that they've become blur imprints in her mind. It takes no effort to remember when one's been forced into this sort of unending treatment. That isn't to say she has any idea which sounds belong to who, or what.

What requires immense energy and willpower, however, lies in the dozens of mandatory tasks she has to fulfil as a human being on a daily basis. The routine involves lifting her eyelids to face the start of day, masticating grub for adequate sustenance, attending tuition to overshadow her failures in class, slouching under a stream of lukewarm water, and more chewing and grinding before closing the night with some uneventful family time. Church visits aren't forgotten; they're squeezed into Sunday mornings. The only part she looked forward to ever so slightly was the end-of-day slumber.

Life brings good news for every person at a point in time. Hers came two years ago, when a fortunate turn of events - in the form of irresponsible diagnoses by doctors who cared only for the buck - limited her duties over time to a tiny handful. She first waved goodbye to studies when she was initially diagnosed with half of all the mental illnesses the professionals could think of. Four months of medical aid did nothing to improve her mentality; instead, her indolence intensified and eventually, her dose of meager chow was substituted with a luxurious supply of IV drips. Edematous calves followed soon after, due to a lack of movement, sentencing her to a life in bed.

That didn't stop her stepmother from wheeling her to church still. The priest would reiterate his unchanging advice during each visit: 'her salvation lies within herself'. Word-wise, she can recall, but semantics-wise, she doesn't feel the need to fathom. Fervent prayers were recited repeatedly weekend after weekend, leaving her to gaze absent-mindedly at devout supporters to while away the time. She cannot comprehend why they would worship the heavens when it is all but a farce. She cannot see the reason.

Today, at noon when the sun shines at its brightest, a terrible fate descends upon her. It is as if the heavens are desperate, finally able to prove their authenticity after years of waiting. A fatal accident plays out at a pedestrian crossing - a wheelchair smashed into pieces, a teenage woman's blood seeping into the asphalt road, an older guardian screaming incoherently and a Honda SUV speeding down the lane and out of sight.

She fails in her attempt to ignore the excruciating pain, for the intense sensation is eating away at her brain. She wills herself to fight against it, something she's thought too troublesome to do until this moment. For the first time in her life, she thinks she's able to directly confront the evil sloth residing within her. She had always been too afraid to do so, but now … now is the time to retaliate. The time to stand up for her true - good - self.

But it's easier said than done.

She's struggling in the war. Acedia's strength, which is more than tenfold that of hers, is gaining the upper hand. Her cognitive abilities are shutting down. Her senses are becoming duller with each passing second. Her pain is gradually decreasing. She's got to persevere even -

Wait, is Acedia … helping her?

Realization suddenly hits her the same way the car did. The lesser she resists, the more the pain fades away. Her world is metamorphosing into utopia.

Everything is clear now: the heavens aren't myths, but the interpretation of heavens as a place of sanctity is. Underappreciated beings like Acedia, who help the unfortunate such as her, have been shunned and treated as sins. She clearly knows whose side she'll stand by.

The pain is completely gone the moment she declares her support for Acedia. A portal materializes before her eyes soon after, and she takes in the environment that's on the other side - vast midnight skies with no stars or moon to light it up. Silent and ethereal. Bliss.

The last thing she hears are muffled shouts. "Emer- … respi- … coma … room … save." There's no need for any heroic acts, she thinks to herself, for Acedia has saved her. Inwardly bidding farewell to earth, she steps into the gaping black hole to start a new and better life.