Death is Only the End If the Story is About You - By Jasmine Naomi D. Villanueva

Written By: Jasmine Naomi D. Villanueva

Category: Short Story

Competition: Global Poetry and Creative Writing Competition 2026

Jasmine Naomi D. Villanueva presents a compelling narrative in her short story, "Death is Only the End If the Story is About You," as part of the Global Poetry and Creative Writing Competition 2026. This captivating story delves into the complex themes of survival and the quest for human perfection in a world ravaged by apocalypse. Through the creation of Genexi, a genetically engineered human, Villanueva explores profound questions about life, death, and what it truly means to be human.

About the Work

In "Death is Only the End If the Story is About You," Villanueva crafts a thoughtful exploration of mortality and existence through the eyes of Genexi, an immortal being. The story is imbued with a somber yet hopeful tone, combining elements of speculative fiction with philosophical inquiry. The narrative poses challenging questions about the nature of humanity, the fear of death, and the pursuit of a utopian future. Villanueva's use of vivid imagery and introspective dialogue invites readers to reflect on the essence of life itself.

Death is Only the End If the Story is About You

Original Submission by Jasmine Naomi D. Villanueva

Death is Only the End If the Story is About You

Jasmine Naomi D. Villanueva

Given how our circumstances were less than ideal, in hindsight, I should have tried to give her a better life. I was blinded by my need to give the people a better future that I never thought of what she might have thought of everything. She was still human; the parts I didn’t bother altering in my pursuit for perfection, anyway. But all I saw was the answer to all our problems, and the product of all the nights I couldn’t fool myself into ignoring the screaming and I’d work on her project.

Originally, the idea of staying in an underground bunker was smart when the overworld was a mess. I didn’t account for the silence. It gave way to hear your own thoughts too clearly. If I was quiet enough, if I didn’t hum some random tune or talk to myself, I’d hear the screaming. I bet other survivors had it worse - after all, they didn’t have the choice to hide, only the unfortunate luck of being spared whilst everyone they loved disappeared forever- but a man’s burden is his own to carry.

Being a survivor sounds all well and good if it weren’t for the feeling of debt you carried on your shoulders. If you listened hard into the barren lands, you could hear them asking “Why did it have to be you and not me?” Their ghosts clung to the earth where they rest. But rest wasn’t the word. Nothing about their death was peaceful.

I owed it to them. A sacrifice they never meant to fulfill. I owed them the reassurance that we had survived, we had learned and we were ready to find solutions.

Genexi was my solution.

Genexi was perfect in the ways we who survived and the rest who died weren’t – the first genetically engineered human who cannot die. Invincible. Immortal. Whatever the word that was usually not used to describe a normal human, it was her.

So words like robotic and lifeless were applicable, too, and that was where her perfection ended.

At times, I looked at her and she moved and acted in a way I thought so human I’d fool myself that she was everything I wanted her to be for a good few seconds before she’d meet my eyes.

Her eyes were a vibrant shade of red - a slap to the face, seeing as the color was associated with so much from the apocalypse, but I saw this as a symbol of rebirth. At least, I tried to see it in a positive light, if it weren’t for how they were more like a porcelain doll’s than a human’s.

Laughter and smiles didn’t come naturally to her. Though, of course, there were few things to smile and laugh about at this time. But I tried cracking jokes and telling stories, and she’d respond with a thoughtful look and maybe a nod or a hum to signal that she had listened. And that was that.

It made me feel so hopeless. Yes, there is no doubt that I have made progress today.

But would the people outside see this as progress the same as I do? No, I doubt they would. They didn’t want progress. They needed straight solutions. It would be like coming forward and presenting them with a Roomba. Genexi was almost perfect, but not quite.

Something was missing, and I’m worried whatever she’s missing is the one thing I took from her.

Genexi was always a box of surprises that sprung open in the oddest of times. I’d talk to her about philosophy, and she’d answer with her own opinions. She knew how to operate simple objects around the lab - whether she simply figured it out or knew beforehand, I never found out.

Today, she asked to have a serious talk with me.

She sat in front of my office table with a look I’d say was sad, had the rest of her face not remain expressionless. She had a storybook in hand, one I’ve asked to borrow from the children’s home when Genexi woke up and I realized she already knew how to read. The Matron had looked at me oddly, but now I thought the effort of looking like a madman was worth it if it had garnered Genexi to ask questions.

“I’m missing something,” she said, after a brief silence.

“Oh? And what do you think that is?” How perfect could a person be to realize a flaw in themselves so quickly, without the need to compare themselves to others?

Far too perfect, I think, as I watch Genexi now. Albeit, there’s the imperfection I couldn’t place my finger on. Genexi was able to tell what was wrong with her immediately, though.

“You told me when I woke up that I couldn’t die, and that I didn’t need to. But all the books mention it. And I don’t understand. If I don’t need to die, then why do others do it? Why did you take it from me?” She looked up at me and I was reminded of a child. The question makes me stop. I didn’t think she’d ask this question so soon.

“Because we’re afraid of it,” I whisper.

“Why? What’s so bad about it?” She looks down at the book, and I can only guess who dies in it for her to ask questions. “I need answers. How can I be your perfect human if I don’t understand what everyone else does?”

And then it clicked. Of all the things she could be missing, it was the awareness of death? What would happen if she understood? I smiled, the feeling of renewed determination firing me up. Imperfections could be smoothened out to look like it was meant to be a part of the creative process, and Genexi was simply the most recent piece of art for me to fix.

“Then let’s look for answers.”

For any other human, asking about death was asking to unpack a load of angst and existential crisis no one needs, especially in a time like this. But to Genexi, it would be what makes or breaks her. Death was something I took from her because it was what we all revered right now.

For Genexi, who was the imperfect perfect human, knowing about death was needed to become a true human.

The problem was looking for the answer. There’s a limit to the answers I can give. She’ll start looking for answers elsewhere. But the people are fragile right now. Reminding them of our mortality might not be the best. But if it’s for a better future, will they reconsider? They don’t know she’s fully awake yet. Only a couple of people who put two and two together. Would making her existence known right now be okay? Or will it make them sink further into despair?

Making choices thus far had always been hard, but now I had Genexi to look after, too. I was deciding for both of us, now. I sigh and drag a hand over my face. The apocalypse never seemed to end for me. You do what you can and life spits it back in your face.

But there can be no room for doubt right now. Hesitating will take me much time. And although Genexi had all the time for that, the rest of us didn’t. I have to focus. One step at a time.

There was a new goal in mind - Genexi needed to learn how to understand why humans feared death. Not the greatest of goals, but very rewarding to be sure if Genexi proves to be a complete human, if I do say so myself. But how to answer it?

I answer whatever question she may have to the best of my abilities. I try to remain formal and thoughtful, but she gets angry.

“As a person,” she tells me, “not as a scientist.”

I blanched, but I pushed through the best I could. I don’t know how to tell her that I can no longer distinguish my own beliefs from science. I answer until we’re both bored stupid of my scientific responses and perspective. I finally decided to bring her to town. I show her around, trying to help her understand our current circumstances. The people greet her with tight - lipped smiles - they’re polite and try to welcome her. But I can see the hesitancy. I move her around fast, explaining our circumstances best I can. I don’t think she hears me. She keeps looking back at the people, and sometimes I catch them looking at us, too, whispering behind cupped palms over their mouths. There’s too much tension for her to feel welcomed. I bet Genexi feels more like an outcast than before.

She’s stiff the moment we get home, almost like she was just doused in cold water and she woke up disoriented.

I think it’s safe to say that failing to help Genxi understand our current circumstances is definitely the worst of my failures.

I found myself staying up all night thinking of a better tactic to go about this problem and the answer hits me as I fall off my chair, half asleep. Since waking up, I am the only one she ever gets to talk to. We eat together and sometimes read in the same room. Always talking to me might be counterproductive for her. Even when we visited town the other day, I just took her around explaining things, not giving her the chance to talk to the townsfolk. Although they didn’t seem too keen to talk to her, I may have made it worse by not letting them try approaching one another. But maybe if she had the chance to talk normally to someone else?

Who, though? How about… Ah, yes! She’d be perfect.

I tell Genexi we’ll be meeting the Matron of the Orphaned and the children of the home today. She looks hesitant, but curiosity overrules her fear.

The moment Matron lays her eyes on Genexi, I think she understood the storybook situation. The Matron had dragged her into the home and Genexi was officially one of her children.

“Who dressed you? This is atrocious. This can’t be too comfortable, at all.” the Matron dotted over Genexi as I stood a few feet back. It was best to let her do her own thing.

“Where did he get you? He makes you look lesser than a dog.”

I wasn’t able to stop Genexi in time as she answered, “He built me.”

The look the Matron gave me was something that would haunt me forever. I explain Genexi as best as I can, and the whole way through, the Matron pierces me in place with a glare. She sighs and looks over to Genexi and the children, who talk in hushed whispers a bit ways off from us. The children looked at her odd, but not the same way the townsfolk did, with fear and uncertainty. They were curious just as she was. She did look rather peculiar, after all, with her pale skin and paler hair. Not to mention the red eyes.

“Please tell me there’s another one,” she whispers. I can only stare incredulously as I wait for her to say more. “Of her, I mean. Don’t tell me she’s the only one.”

“Right now, she’s the only one,” I reply tentatively, before stuttering as I watch her close her eyes like she was in pain. “B-but of course, once I’m sure she’s perfect, I’ll start working on others who are willing.”

I didn't understand the sad look in her eyes until Genexi sits with us on the bench, and for the second time today, I wasn’t quick enough to stop her. She asks the Matron why people are afraid to die.

The Matron blinks a couple of times, before smiling and combing Genexi’s hair back with her fingers. I stare, mesmerized. A mother through and through, ever patient even to a girl who knew far too much but also far too little. I have to lean in a little as she whispers her answer to Genexi.

“We fear death because of what we may lose.”

We spent the rest of the afternoon watching the children play. Genexi looked thoughtful as she went to bed, clutching a ragged toy rabbit the Matron had given her.

She sews one for each child, one of the kids told me. God knows every child needs a hug, even when they never ask for it outloud, said the Matron.

I thought the future was looking brighter, even if I was the only one who could see it right now.

The next day, the confused anger of the townsfolk finally came to light in the form of the Food Scavenger. Unlike the rest of them, he was much more vocal about his thoughts. Genexi had made the mistake of wandering off to the gardens and my introduction of her might have been adding salt to the wound. The Food Scavenger was a tad sarcastic and rude, but suddenly revealing her purpose tipped him over the edge.

“A freak of nature,” the Food Scavenger spat, “that’s what you are. What’s the point if there’s only one of you, huh? What about the rest of us?”

Ashamed to admit it now, I could only stutter out a reply. Genexi was quiet beside me. It was impossible for her not to know what the Food Scavenger was saying. She was smarter than all of us combined, albeit innocent in terms of experience. I cast her a sideways glance and realized she was more curious than offended. Her eyes observed the Food Scavenger silently. It obviously unnerved him, because he suddenly turned to attack me instead.

“Why didn’t you do this before the apocalypse?” he seethed mercilessly, “Whyd’dya wait ‘til there was no one left?”

I would have thought it funny, how I asked the same questions each night. But the nightmares were never funny. And this wasn’t a laughing situation. He was completely right. Why didn’t I?

To both my shock and humiliation, Genexi came in to defend me.

“Screaming and crying won’t do you good. You had your chance to cry all this time,” she said softly. “But it will not bring them back. It won’t solve anything now. The Matron told me we should always move forward because if we keep looking back, we’ll forget which direction we’re facing.”

Was it the fact that the Food Scavenger didn’t think she’d talk back? Or was it the fact she had referred to the Matron, and it was an unspoken rule that no one dared talk badly about her? Whatever the reason, the Food Scavenger lost his voice, choosing to simply grumble obscenities beneath his breath before going back to work.

I thought that was the end of it, but during a trip to town in which I lost Genexi, I found her back in the gardens. Genexi had found a way to convince him to teach her how he did his job. Pestering him all the way to hell, he said. Teaching her to properly care for the future, she said. The Food Scavenger didn’t correct her, and they continued to plow the fields.

“I asked him why people were afraid to die,” Genexi said during our dinner that day, and I had to pretend I didn’t choke on a lettuce leaf as she kept going. “He said it was because of what they may leave behind.”

I didn’t teach her how to make friends, or calm an angry farmer. It was the most gratifying success.

Time had passed - slowly or quickly was out of the question. I had come to tell the time and day depending on the progress I’ve made with Genexi. She was a part of the town, now, without a doubt. She works during the day at the gardens and sleeps at the home with the children. I hardly see her around the lab unless she had the time to visit or she had a question she didn’t want to ask anybody else.

The exception is today when she suddenly came to the lab asking for something I now wonder if I never should have given her.

“I need a heart,” she said, her eyes brighter than how I last remember. “That’s what I’ve been missing. You took away my heart so I wouldn’t die. It doesn’t have to be a real heart! Just a fake would be fine.”

I complied. I just need to build a makeshift heart, after all. Not one that would actually make her fall apart should it give up on her. She didn’t have to say it, but I knew it was just something to symbolize her humanity. So I gave her one.

The effect was instantaneous. She was perfect and I believed it, we all did. She had suddenly learned to laugh and smile with the children. She gave encouraging words to her fellow workers at the gardens with grins and a clap on the back. The sudden light that sprung the people back to life was no laughing matter. Right in front of my eyes – the hope I had dreamt of giving to them was completed. The people are excited about the prospect of never dying. I slept well in the bunker for the first time in years.

A heart. Of all the things I thought our biggest flaw was what made her complete.

But a heart was a heavy burden, as I had now come to understand, even if it wasn’t the real thing.

She visits me in the lab again. I had to jar myself awake from the memory of when she first woke up. Her eyes are vibrant, and that image in itself calms me. She fiddles with her fingers and smiles softly. How her smile wavered was almost unnoticeable had I not known her long enough. The idea that Genexi knew how to feel nervous was both gratifying and terrifying.

“I… I don’t think I have to be worried anymore. The people are happy, aren’t they? So that makes me happy, too.” She takes a shaky breath as she looks up at me.

I was so sure that understanding what death was was what made her incomplete.

The thing about being perfect, I see now, was that I could never understand how Genexi’s mind worked. And I think it’s safe to say that it works vice versa for Genexi, too.

“I think I’m ready to die now.”

About the Competition

The Global Poetry and Creative Writing Competition 2026, hosted by Hashtag Kalakar, is a prestigious platform celebrating the art of storytelling and poetic expression. This competition invites writers from around the world to share their unique voices and perspectives, fostering a global community of creativity and literary excellence. Participants engage in a vibrant exchange of ideas, contributing to the rich tapestry of contemporary literature.

We extend our heartfelt thanks to Jasmine Naomi D. Villanueva for sharing her insightful short story, "Death is Only the End If the Story is About You," with us. Her participation in the Global Poetry and Creative Writing Competition 2026 enriches the literary dialogue and inspires us to ponder deeply about life and humanity. We look forward to witnessing her future contributions to the world of storytelling.

About Hashtag Kalakar

Hashtag Kalakar is a creative platform dedicated to providing artists, writers, singers and other creative talents with opportunities to showcase their work and reach wider audiences through competitions, features and creative initiatives.