My Last Year

My newest friend--Krieg

      I watched as the curser blinked, and blinked, and blinked and—

      “What are you doing?” Dad said, standing at my shoulder, looking at my computer screen. Peter walked through the kitchen, overhearing Dad.

      “She’s doin’ some blog thingy.”

      “Peter!” I yelled. It was not for him to share!

      “A blog?” Dad said. “A blog for what?”

      “It’s nothing,” I said. “Just a little fun I’m havin.” And before any more questions were asked, I was out of that room and hurrying down the hall to my quarters. I sprawled out on my circular bed and stared up at the ceiling. What was I gonna tell my parents? Should I tell them about the blog? I was unsure. I still have 9 and a half months left, what am I going to do with them? I’m already working at the zoo; now do I want to do more?

      The list of things that I could do is endless, but the question is; do I want to do those things?

      I heard a tap on my door and looked over to see Peter standing there. My twin brother’s arms were crossed in front of his chest and he seemed somewhat irritated.

      “Why didn’t you tell Dad?”

      I sat up on my bed. “Because I’m not sure he’d approve of it.” I explained, only realizing this as I spoke the words.

      He dropped his arms and walked over to my bed, dropping down on the fluffy comforter. “Molly, why would he care? It’s not like you’re doing anything bad.”

      “I know, Peter, but he might think that I’m wasting my life doing that.” Then I looked into his eyes. “Do you think I’m wasting my life?”

      At first, he didn’t answer, he was playing with his hands, staring at them. He was thinking harder than before, weighing his options. Then, Peter looked up to me and shook his head.

      “Of course not, Moll. It’s pretty creative, and you know what? It gives us something of you for when you…for when you leave.”

      A small smile formed on my lips. “It’s okay. I know I’m gonna die.”

      Peter’s eyes met mine and a tear escaped from them. He wiped it away, frustrated. Then he stood up and left me in my room, alone with my computer. I guess I hadn’t realized how sensitive he could be when it came to death. We hadn’t ever had anyone close die suddenly, and we never spoke about it either.

      It got me thinking then. Dying. I won’t be here in a year. My heart pounded harder. I looked at my hands. These hands will never be any stronger than what they are now, all they’re gonna do is get weaker and weaker, shrinking and shriveling up.

      I now knew what I wanted to write my blog on. Snatching my laptop off the bed, I opened up my blog site and began typing quickly.

      Hello,

      I’m dying. I don’t think it’s quite sunk in yet…I don’t think I’ve let myself realize that. I mean, I understand that this cancer is killing me, but I guess I haven’t realized that after it kills me, I won’t be coming back. I’m never gonna breathe ever again. I’ll be gone. Buried 6ft underground, never to be seen again. People might—no, they will forget me, I’ll be gone, with no proof that I ever existed except for a birth certificate and a few photographs. No. I want to make a difference. I want to make an impact on the world. Make my mark in history, if you know what I mean.