The half empty waiting room should have been his first sign.
The view in front of him, chased by influencers and travellers, is lost on him. The ocean breeze washes over him unnoticed. He stares down at the table, absentmindedly flipping the menu pages, the award-winning dishes failing to excite. There’s an image playing over and over in his mind. How many has it been? Seven? Eight? The fact that he can’t be sure makes is even worse. Even sadder. These people were his sole-mates. He loved them all with such passion, such dedication.
And he watched them all die.
Nine! It’s been nine.
The image flash again. A funeral, a small cylinder being cemented into a wall. James was number nine. He loved him with everything he had, he couldn’t even do his usual disappearing act when their age difference became too noticeable. He stayed with him till the end.
The end… what he would give to have one. If he could go back to that day, when was it… 500 years ago? He would storm that empty waiting room and drag his young, vain ass out of there.
Immortality’s price was a hefty one to pay.