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Her friends called her Ingrid.
Her overwhelming heart rate fluctuated from time to time. A feeling so sublime it made her feel so alive. She captured her thoughts in a jar and kept them on her night stand. But her words were like paper hidden in the shimmering sand.
Everyone seemed to flicker in a bad light as one by one they left her to her own nightmares.
She was failing school, even though she had great potential.
It had been this way for a long time.
It all started when her mother left her father. Her dad became an alcoholic, she would wait each night for the click of the door and the wobbly steps.
He still cared for her. Yes, definitely.
The pitch black stillness watched her in envy as she became a different person each night. Irrational thoughts scampered through the clouds, out of fright.
She was a talented gymnast whose dreams flew in the air from the sharp movements of her feet.
A broken sequence. And the the only question she asked herself was why me.
I guess to you her situation may seem cliché, overused and overly dramatic.
But it's real life.
She was never really awake but she was never really alive. Sleep deprived to the max and that was only one of the facts.
I guess thats what made it harder for those thoughts to leave her.
The escape she took was alcohol.
The strong flavour rose to the top of the bottle as time slowed down and the raindrops sat next to her on the window.
The bittersweet liquid tickled her throat as the bolts in her shoulders loosened. It made her giddy like she was dancing with pink cotton candy floss and she was singing along to Marina and The Diamonds.
Just for a short while, her problems were put on hold but it wasn't long before she ended up in hospital.
The heavenly white waist coat entered with a grim expression as the reality fell on her shoulders.
The silence of the room was enough indication that something was not okay. A drastic change was about to happen. In only a few words, the reality would finally hit her.
Hard.
I'm afraid to say, you have hepatocellular carcinoma.
In simpler terms you have liver cancer.
A pointy, charcoal blade fell into her hand at that moment. Her eyes clouded over as she recalled what that meant. Without treatment, she would soon cascade to the graves.
A wicked fate.
Her heart plunged into the reckless sea of fire. The rough waves cackled, I told you so. The fragments of her regrets joined together in unison, they swept waterfalls out of her eyes. By the time she gathered the money she needed, she would be gone.
And on that fateful night, the city lights were much darker than usual. And on the balcony of her hospital room her tender heart shivered with the wind; she failed to have grabbed a scarf to keep it warm.
