I'm not afraid

What even is life?

What even is life? If you don't finish school, don't get good grades, don't get a good career, will life still be good then?. Some people are not so fortunate as others, some have no money, no food, no roof over their heads and others are ill, like me. No I'm not gonna cry and no I'm not gonna weep. This is life, everyone dies, some just faster then others.

My name is Mischief Tillerson, a 15 year old cancer patient and to be honest I'll probably die in some near future, big deal. I'm not really afraid of death anymore, and sure I would like to live a little more but I don't really have a choice in the matter. 

1..2..3... I muttered counting my steps as I walked along the old railways. My grey hood up along with my burgundy beanie on, I bend down to tie my shoelaces when I hear a rumbling sound and lights flashing in my face, I squint my eyes but do not move, I'm not afraid nor frozen in place, I'm just waiting....waiting for what you may ask? to be dead!? no, not yet at least. I stepped out of the railways just in time for the train to pass by.

The next few minutes I spent sitting in a police car and nope, not my first time either. After getting diagnosed with cancer I kind of gave up on life, in reality we're all alive yet, we do not live. Reality  kind of ironic, someone like me saying that, considering I'm the girl with her head up in the clouds. We came to a stop and I sighed looking out the window, I open the door of the car and walk towards our door with the officer, my head down, I'm not ashamed for anything I do, this is me now, but I cant help but feel guilty for my parents sometimes. My mum opened the door with a look of disappointment across her face. I kept a blank look and walked straight past her and up the stairs into my room. I don't feel the need to really listen to what they have to say about me, same old, same old. I locked the door and blasted 'panic! at the disco', looking at my desk I see the stacks of filled sketch pads on it and bite my lip. Drawing is the only thing I actually enjoy, as you can probably tell I'm not the best at opening up, drawing is my escape, my escape from reality. I don't let anyone go through these, they're kind of like secrets, my darkest thoughts, my hardest struggles. Drawing keeps me... well me. 

Hours pass by, I wake up to see I'm laying my head on some drawings on my desk. I check the time to see I'm already late for school. Yawning, I start to get up not really caring if I'm late. I brush my teeth, put on my uniform and go downstairs. I don't wear make up so it takes me a lot faster to get ready. I grab a granola bar and get my bag, getting my shoes on. Shit, I thought running up the stairs to get my beanie. My hair started falling out a couple months after being diagnosed and I never leave the house without it.