I didn't sleep on Sunday night, and that was only the start to a long sequence of insomniac nights. I tried to blame it on having slept all morning after returning from the Seven Sisters, but I knew it was only related to my hyperactive state of mind.

At five in the morning, I decided to pack my cheap, overused microscope and take it to Oxford the following morning. I couldn't work as well as I could with the ones at King's College, but at least I could do something. I was sure my anxious neurons would die of eagerness if I had to wait until Tuesday to get ahead.

I lay in bed for an hour, but I couldn't manage to doze off. I had doubtlessly obsessed over becoming eternal. Part of me knew it was an idea as surreal as the psychedelic images that my fagged eyes made out in the dawning light. And, anyway, what did I want infinitude for? If I lived a long life and then died, I could still hope Christianity was right and the afterlife existed. I could still have faith in seeing Nora again someday. On the contrary, if I did manage to get what I wanted, I would spend eternity whipping myself for not having been intelligent enough or quick enough or lucky enough to make it true while I could still save her.

I tried to convince my stubborn head with arguments like that and stronger ones; I worked very hard to discourage myself, almost as hard as to get results.

During the week, I spent long hours looking at the lake from my dorm window. I scrutinized my attraction to it, to see whether it inspired something important. But I didn't know what it was. Water? Water was the origin of life, but, as far as I knew, it didn't stop life from ending at some point. Water kept cells hydrated. Hydration was appropriate to prevent and cure inflammation... I knew inflamed cells functioned much worse than non-inflamed ones. How could I keep things functioning properly forever? Water didn't seem to be enough.

All those late-night slow speculations about water made me thirsty. I crossed the room to reach for my water bottle. Africa was in REM sleep. Looking at her, I also saw the time in her alarm clock. Almost four in the morning. It was no surprise that I couldn't think clearly anymore. The psychedelic shapes that had moved in front of my eyes before started to appear reiteratively when I sat down at the desk again. I advised myself to call it a day and try to get some sleep. But trying was probably the worst tactic to actually get it. It should be automatic, because I was so tired out my muscles didn't respond to my commands any longer.

That reminded me of when Nora and I went on a ride called Galaxia at the peer, just in front of the Horror Hotel, which was one of our favorite rides. Galaxia lifted, dropped and spun us so much that Nora's feet were numb when we got out. She hung on my shoulders for a few meters so that she didn't fall. She was so lightweight and airy I didn't even feel discomfort when she hung on me.

I yawned and made my way to bed. From the bed, I could see one of the books about telomerase in cancer I had taken from the library. Telomerase... the prideful enzyme that made it possible for cancer cells to divide themselves unlimitedly. I hadn't gotten much further than that, even though I had read almost half of the book during the last insomniac nights. It still resisted to my insistent attempts to discover her furtive magic. It probably knew I wanted to manipulate it, and had decided to hide its secret weapon. I realized I was raving, and got out of bed again. The only thing I accomplished by lying on it was suffocating myself. I needed to unwind. I saw Africa's silver rolling tobacco cage on her side table.

Although it was a stimulating drug, tobacco supposedly helped stressed out people find calm again. Africa smoked millions of cigarettes a day when Nora was dying, as if she was trying to dry her cancer out with the smoke she exhaled. My mind was so blurry that I decided it was worth the try. I lit one of the cigarettes Africa had already rolled, and inhaled deeply. I choked hysterically and immediately looked at Africa to see if I had woken her. She was still deeply asleep, with her legs hanging from the bed.

I took another drag and looked at myself in the mirror. I had hoped I would look like a fifties diva, like a feminist from another time. But instead, I found a sixty year old, exhausted woman looking back at me. I looked as if I had been smoking crap like that for my whole life. I tossed the cigarette. More accurately, I looked as if someone had injected that shit through an IV. My skin was grey and I had dark circles under my eyes. Seeing the accelerated aging the lack of sleep had caused me made me become even more obsessed with the brevity of life.

Nights were too hot for December in England. I progressively took my clothes of every night, and wished Luke would be the one undressing me. Thinking about how he would do it, I let myself soak in desire. Those thoughts made temperature increase even more, but it was a different type of heat. It was heat that heated, on the contrary to the heat in my room, which made it sequentially more difficult for me to breath. I didn't understand how Africa could sleep wrapped up in her duvet.

The night I finished reading the book on telomerase, I threw it against the wall, full of fury. This time, Africa woke up.

"Hey, Tess, what's wrong? Why are you still up?"

Without any warning, I started crying dramatically.

"This is a fucking impasse!" I shouted, and I started to throw my microscopy samples, and my pens, and my notes.

"Tessa, stop!"

Africa held me and I fell into her, crying even louder. She must have thought I was crazy. I did, too. I was damn sure. My tears didn't end, and I soaked Africa's mate hair and her old Nirvana t-shirt.

"I'm never going to make it, Africa." I managed to say, after I had relatively calmed down.

"You don't need to." she answered, solemnly.

"Do you hate me?"

"Why would I?"

"For being so damn ambitious. An insatiable psycho."

She laughed and her strong laugh nourished me.

"Your forehead is burning. You're covered in cold sweat. You should get some sleep."

"I can't leave this unfinished." I said, as I picked up the pieces of the samples.

"Of course you can. You must. You've been up every night this week. You should know better than me how unhealthy and counterproductive that is."

I didn't listen to her. My eyes fixed on the lake again.

"Do you think this lake will be here a thousand years from now?"

She shrugged and grabbed her silver cage.

"I don't really care."

"I want to be able to see it."

She shrugged again and lit up her cigarette.

"I am seeing it now."

She took another drag and offered the cigarette to me. I was certain it would only make my throat dryer, so I refused. I swallowed, willing to moisturize my insides.

I knew it was time to tell her. I swallowed again, but, this time, I swallowed my fear, and said:

"I am not trying to find a cure for leukemia..."

She exhaled the smoke without ceasing to look at me, perplexed.

"I am trying to figure out why cancer cells live forever and the healthy ones don't. I am trying to... to make healthy cells live forever, to make... us... live forever."

She took a couple of drags without saying anything. I expected her to break down and yell at me any second. Instead, she calmly asked:

"Why did your purpose change so quickly?"

"Because if I find a cure for leukemia, I will save a lot of people, but if I find the key to eternity, I will save humanity."

"Are you sure?" she asked, doubtfully.

Of course I was. Death had been the greatest threat of all throughout history. But, also, of course she wasn't. I looked at her, asking for an explanation with my half-closed eyes. My eyelids weighted tones, and my lashes swept my dark circles each time I blinked.

"I am happy to be alive right now. The only thing that worries me about having a limited amount of time is making sure I fill my finite days with exciting moments. I think eternal life would turn the world into chaos. Let's start by the tiny problems we can easily predict." she said, sarcastically emphasizing the word "tiny". "Overpopulation, and thus restriction of new births, lack of hurry, no plans, no perspective, no wisdom!"

I had predicted she would say that exactly, but still, I couldn't argue. We stayed there, sitting on my bed, seeing how the sun started to rise over Oxford. The first beams passed through the trees in front of my bedroom, and through the cracks of my shattered willpower. I rested my head on Africa's shoulder and she kept smoking.

"I know it would be crazy. But don't you want it?"

She tossed her cigarette and stood up. She looked out off the window and didn't turn around to face me. Now she was the one that couldn't argue. I knew she wanted to give me just another lecture I could summarize with the words she had written on a graffiti she had painted on the wall on our first year: Carpe Diem. She must have read my mind, because her line of thought drifted parallel to mine and encountered that half-smudged graffiti as well.

"I can't deny part of me wants to, even if that means no more Carpe Diem."

Even if I did not share her opinions and knew I would be mad and frustrated after I had slept, talking to Africa had a soothing effect on me. She drew the curtains as much as she could, so that the morning light wouldn't bother my disordered sleep.

"What time do you want to wake up tomorrow? Or I should probably say today." she said, when I was already halfway into slumber.

"I can't miss Genetics."

She looked at my timetable on the wall, and said:

"I'll wake you."

"Thanks, mum." I said, and her laugh was the last sound I heard before I started dreaming away.

Sleeping for five hours straight was my definition of glory right then. Even if images of an angry, disappointed Nora had haunted me during my sleep, I woke up feeling strong and young again. My skin didn't seem to agree with that sensation, because the dark circles under my eyes looked even more intense.

I took the coffee Africa had left for me on the desk and hurried to class. The bitterness of the coffee made me jump. Africa must have mistaken my cappuccino and her solo and left me hers. She aimed to become bitter herself, like the coffee she drank and the chocolate she ate, because hapless artists were said to be the best.

I entered the classroom five minutes late, and Professor Evans' explanation about senescence caught my attention. I couldn't help but raise my hand even before I took a sit next to Alex.

"I see you've been able to catch up immediately, Miss Blake."

I ignored her sarcasm and interpreted her talking to me like she had given me permission to talk.

"I understand senescence is a growth-arrest program cells enter when they are too stressed or damaged to continue proliferating in a secure way."

"That's right, Miss Blake." she reckoned, rolling her eyes at me for not having contributed to her explanation with very significant information.

I assumed she thought I was just looking for a way to be the center of attention. I blushed, but I couldn't stop myself from interrupting again when she continued with her lecture.

"So, I presume if we found a way to keep cells unstressed, uninflamed, they would continue to fulfill their normal cycle."

Everyone in the room was looking at me. They probably thought I was an idiot, but I didn't care. Alex yawned, as if to show everyone I would say nothing but boring rubbish.

"And how exactly would you achieve that, Miss Blake? How exactly would you avoid DNA mutations and stop cancer?"

I noted she was starting to hate me very much, and that wouldn't exactly benefit me when it came down to my Genetics grade. But this was more important, by far.

"I figure telomerase would be enough to keep DNA dividing forever, thus partly avoiding senescence, but I believe it wouldn't prevent DNA from mutating, and..." I paused. "That's what I wanted to ask, Professor. Is there any way to keep DNA the same? No changes, no mutations."

She laughed ironically, with a face that expressed she believed I was just a fool, motivated and utopian student that wouldn't achieve anything but failing finals by spending her nights trying to be a witch and do miracles, instead of focusing on being just another frustrated physician that merely applied the principles that already appeared in textbooks, and whose mind was a sterile dessert in which nothing flourished. I ignored her smirk and continued:

"No, there isn't." I laughed, and Alex hid her face in her hands, ashamed of me.

I didn't care, because I had figured it out. I had found the way!

"DNA has to stay the same for us to be immortal, but there is no way that's happening. That was my mistake all along! What we should do is something else: only keep the cells that have an unchanged DNA, and toss the rest. A continuous cleaning program. But, but... we don't have science-fiction machines that do that, right?"

I laughed again. Professor Evans rolled her eyes, and moved impatiently, ready for me to finish.

"We don't have machines that find mutated cells and go: "Beep!""

I kept laughing. I was ecstatic. I had rocked it!

"We need biological resources in order to do that. We need macrophages. Yes, macrophages, the cells in our body whose function already is to clean our organisms from bacteria and waste. Bacteria are also cells. Macrophages recognize they are bad for us, and they eliminate them. We need to manipulate macrophages genetically, we need to make them able to recognize the cells whose DNA is mutated. That's totally possible, huh?"

As I talked, things I had studied during my sleepless nights connected and more and more things flourished in my head. Although Professor Evans kept smirking, she didn't argue what I had just said. My classmates' faces had changed. Some of them nodded and took notes. Their silent approval bolstered my assurance.

"If macrophages wipe out the cells in our bodies whose DNA is changed, we will keep the DNA in our body the same! It was so simple... I just needed to change my approach, to turn it around... We will erase what doesn't meet our needs, and we will also ensure cells keep dividing by administering telomerase. We could even selectively replace the tissue we have erased, with stem cells. It's brilliant!"

Even Alex was nodding by them, expressing admiration, and, mostly, bottomless envy. The teacher's face turned to panic suddenly, and that was the final certainty I needed to run away from the classroom to my room and finish my project. I could already palpate success, and that made my heartbeat even faster than running did.

I entered my room and didn't even stop to catch my breath. I threw myself on the floor and searched for my notes and hypotheses among the many books and papers that were spread like rubbish all over the floor. I didn't know how Africa was able to sleep in there. I didn't understand how she stood me at all.

My hands trembled as I passed the pages of my untidy binder. Professor Evans had definitely realized what I was talking about. I had not imagined her terrified face. Had I? Should I be panicking as well? I was certain I was going to accomplish my goal. Tremor extended through my face. My eyelids didn't stop moving, and that made it impossible to blink. My messy handwriting made me dizzy. I tossed the binder and breathed deeply for a few seconds. If I was right, how the hell did I expect to collect enough money to actually offer that treatment to everybody? Governments would find it dangerous. I would be imprisoned for being a twenty-one century apocalypse-conspiring witch. Making every single person on Earth immortal would cost more than buying them a mansion at Long Island.

The experimental phase would probably lead to illness and cancer and death in some of the people who went through the treatment. And which age should it start at? Would it interfere with growth?

I started to feel sick and run to the toilet, but, before I made it there, I vomited on our carpet. Tears crept behind my eyes and made their way out of my cornea. I had to look for a scientific explanation that related overproduction of tears and giving up sleeping. The DNA-protecting treatment I planned to use would probably have more secondary effects than the years the person that took the treatment would hope to live: Infinite.

I needed Luke to come for me and lift me in his strong arms and take me to the bath. Nevertheless, I wouldn't want him to see me in that pitiful state. Many psychedelic pictures soaked my brain again and I got lost in a forest of fuchsia circles that became bigger as they captured me. I was seeing the room through a craziness-inducing kaleidoscope. And then tremor didn't let me open my eyes. I was blinded by ambition, and my neck started to hurt a lot from being in that inhuman position.

And I still hadn't solved the equation. I didn't even have the perfect procedure and I had already felt like I had won. I was a stupid brat who spent day and night dreaming high and I was definitely too full of myself. Why the hell did I think I could make it? If it were possible, Madame Curie or Rita Levi-Montalcini or Maria Montessori would have already figured it out.

I had too much hope. That was my problem. I could try to convince myself I shouldn't try anymore. But even if I did find irrevocable arguments, my mind would still continue making plans like an insane and insatiable obsessive robot. I tried to lie to myself, or make myself see the truth. That approach changed depending on the colour of the thought that was galloping through my mind that ephemeral instant. But every time, I was sure I would get my answer.

The world's answer. The answer that would make people stop asking questions. No more transcendental meditation. No more philosophy students. The decay of humanity. But I still craved it. I must be a sick hunter, because I craved it almost as much as I had craved Luke's skin back at the Seven Sisters. Back in Brighton, back at home.

Home. I wanted to be there. I wanted Lindsay and her sweet wisdom to help me move towards something, towards anything, and cure me from fossilizing.

I felt like waste, merged with my messed up notebooks and shattered microscope samples and overused books. My biggest desire at that moment was to stand up, open the window and clean the disgusting clutter I had turned our room into.

The disarray inside contrasted with the exquisiteness of the landscape outside the window. The sun shone through the trees and made the lake look like a golden dream. I wanted to get out of that oxygen lacking room and be part of the fresh and still, but not for long, calm world. I forced my diaphragm down to keep my body exchanging gases, but it ignored me and responded with hyperventilation. The smell of vomit grossed me out and I made a colossal effort to think of flowers and beauty and peace and diamonds and rainbows, and that sickened me even more, because it was false and corny. I searched for chocolate and flying and Luke and pirouettes and salty air and traveling at the deoxygenated corners of my mind and DNA-protection would make people die and I fainted on top of my puke.

What did you think of this chapter? Do you think Tessa will be successful? Do you think her success would actually save humanity? Let me know in the comments! I am entering the Wattys2016, so, if you enjoyed it, please don't forget to vote :)

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