Ventricle

24 HOURS LEFT (9:00 AM).

        My parents shriek.

        The doctors attempt to comfort me—but fail.

        And I, am the only sane one left out of the bunch.        

        In most scenarios I should be the one freaking out (almost like a hormonal eleven-year-old at a One Direction concert), but I've been noticing the weakening changes that have been going on in my body.

        I have known inside of me, that I am dying, for a while now, actually. And I think my parents have felt that too.

        But the only difference with me and them is that I have accepted the cold truth, and it will be legitimately impossible for them to accept the fact that their creation out of pure love, will be dying so young.

        Our family really lives a tragic life if you think about it. If a producer snatched this up and made it into a movie or something it would make millions. The audience would eat it up, as well. 

        I clear my throat. “Mom and Dad? Doctor Morton?” 

        No one answers so I pretend I’m the character Johanna Mason from the infamous Hunger Games trilogy. “CAN EVERYONE JUST SHUT UP FOR A SECOND? Seriously. I would like to say something but you all are too busy using your cotton sleeves as kleenex.” I cross  my arms. Ha, I’ve got their attention now. 

        Whenever the real me doesn’t work out in real life, I meld into a fictional one. It helps me cope. It makes all my of problems disappear within seconds. After all, it’s no longer a problem that “Johanna Mason” has, but a problem the sick-but-optimistic-dying-girl has. 

        My parents are still in the midst of their depressing emotions, but at least they are listening to what I have to say to them. 

        “I want to leave the hospital room. I have things I need to do. You know, before I leave,” I say as  I stare down at the dust speckled floor. 

        “Honey, I don’t think that’s the brightest idea,” Mom interjects. 

        “Your mother is right,” the doctor adds in, “with your condition it is not safe for you to be prowling around in the public.” 

        “What the hell. You tell me I’m dying and now I’m not allowed to leave to say goodbye to some of the people I love in this world?” I argue back. The doctor sure as hell has a cold heart. 

        “I am sorry,” he says with an indifferent voice. Bastard. “but the conditions are just too harsh and judging by these statistics, your body is not capable of going out in the public for a full day. It would only quicken your death.” 

        “Please,” I beg, “There are three people I need to say goodbye too. Is that too much to ask for? Can you please just bend the rules.” At this point I am utterly desperate. I mean, who in their right mind tells a young girl she is going to die in a day, but then doesn’t let her say goodbye to the only people she has ever cared about. 

        “I’m sorry. I am afraid I am not able to permit that. Now, I think Nurse Jackie will finish up everything else from here.” And with that, Dr. Bastard leaves. 

        And then there were four. 

        “I am so sorry, honey.” Dad sobs, “I guess you are just stuck with the two of us for the day until you…you…you die.” Tears rolls down his cheeks and get caught in his unshaven stubble. He doesn’t bother wiping it away. “Is…is there anything you would like us to do, you know…for you?” He asks. Dad then looks at me for a moment, I gaze intensely into his eyes. The crystalline blue orbs rattle at a quickening pace. I then find his burly arms wrapped around me in a warm, realizing hug.