Messo(?)

Never

"I ain't telling anyone," I say.

"That is your choice, but sharing this with others is a good idea. What if they wonder why your hair is falling out? Or why you weigh 10 pounds less than last week?" Doc asks me.

"My friends don't know what I weigh."

*sigh* "That doesn't matter, it's just good to have a way to vent."

"Well I don't care! Can I leave now?" I ask.

"Fine, you can go check out at the front office," Doc sighs.

"Where is it? I can't remember."

"Find it yourself, you need to learn where it is," he says, grinning like a madman.

'He is one'  I think.

I get up and walk out of the door he held open for me, and search for the front office.

"Hello?"

"I need to check out, Kin is my name,"

"Ok, when do you want to do the next appointment for treatment? October 23rd is open at ten."

"That's good." I say, feeling a little down that I need to come back so soon.

"Ok, it's all set up. You can go find your parents now."

"Um, sure." I mumble as I walk away quietly.

It's a long walk home, so I can't stand around here awkwardly trying to tell her I have no parents.

An hour later, I am back at the orphanage, and all of the kids are trying to investigate me.

"Kin, where were you at approximately 3 o'clock this evening?" Sierra inquires.

"I was at the hospital, like you told me, mate," I answer, "but I need to go see Baba now, OK? I'll tell you all later."

"Okay!" they all chorus.

I wind through the halls and go into Baba's office.

Baba is the orphanage manager. She is little more than 70 and looks a good 69. Her hair is almost all white, little brown. She has a plump, pale face and her wrinkles show she smiles a lot.

Her office is a small blue square, complete with a desk directly across from the door, and a window right behind it. In front of the desk are two chairs, and two bookshelves sit on either side of the chairs.

"Oh, Kin! How did the appointment go?"

"I have cancer," I say bluntly, taking a seat in a chair.

"What?! Cancer! What kind?" she yells.

"Sh! You might scare the kids!" I whisper.

"Yeah, okay. Do you have leukemia? That's really common in kids."

"No. I have Mesothelioma."

"What? Meso-what? I thought that was an adult disease!"

"It is, Baba! That's why I'm so surprised!"

"Well, what is the treatment?"

"There is Chemo and Radiation therapy, but I wanted to go with the Clinical treatments."

"What are those?"

"Experimental treatments. My doctor says that we have evolved in treatments and one of the experiments is a type of chemotherapy where the hair is 90% less likely to fall out. He says that so far only around 20 people have really tested this out, but that 19 of the 20 hadn't lost any hair, and 12 people had their symptoms get a little worse, but overall the tumor shrunk and they got better"

"Well, is this going to be expensive?"

I look down. "Yes," I mumble.

"Well, we can't pay for it."

"I'm sorry."

"It's not your fault, honey! We have been on a tight budget since 2012, and now it's 2016! We just can't afford it."

"Well, is there anyone you know who can?"

"Well, today a slightly wealthy family was looking for a child to adopt. They wanted a teenager that could open up their child. They say he is in a deep shell and they don't know if he will ever come out."

"I could help with that. A dying child that likes to run around will certainly wake him up!" I joke.

"You aren't dying!" she yells.

"Suuuurrree..."

"I can contact them and ask them to come in tomorrow, but for now go eat and make your way to bed. You need to rest."

"Yesterday when I was tired you told me to stay up." I say, while getting up off the ground.

"But I didn't know you were sick then!"

"Touche," I reply walking out the door.

I skip over the dining hall, and go straight to my shared room with Aiden and Matt.

"Hey, how you doing?" Aiden asks. His real name is Grotesque. His abusive mother named him that as an insult, and the authorities took him away from her two years ago. He has blond hair and blue eyes, but he used to have black hair before his mom poured bleach over his head. Yeah, that's how the police got her. And yes, his head is covered in scars, but they faded a little over the years.

"Fine, just need to sleep," I yawn, and slip headphones in my ears from my iPod. No, not a ipod touch, or even a nano. My iPod is an older model, kinda thick and all it really does is play music and that ping pong game. I love that ping pong game

I turn my music on and Peirce the Veil starts blasting in my ears.

"Hey! Turn it down! I can hear you!" Matt yells. He has brown hair and green eyes. He has all kinds of freckles. They found him on the streets with his mother and father, who are both still poor and still live on the streets. He goes to visit them every so often.

I turn my music down and roll over, my back facing them. I close my eyes and try to fall asleep.

Soon, I am drifting away into the land of ghosts, dead girlfriends, and  disasterology.