When You're Gone

Chapter 1

                     It's not everyday that you find out you're dying. But then again, it's not everyday that you jump out a window and sustain severe brain damage. 

                     Finn remembered that day very well. It was exactly three weeks ago. May 16th. His friends had dared him to shoplift from a joke shop. He had already embraced his inner rebel. Seventeen and what people liked to call 'emo', he was already covered in tattoos - or atleast his arms were - and had gotten his ear pierced. Shoplifting? It should be cakewalk, he had thought. That was, until he ended up in a juvenile holding cell. His brother bailed him out, but the problems at home had started. Angry, frustrated, Finn had run over to his brother Kenny's apartment. Another explosive arguement later, he had jumped out the fifth storey apartment's window.

                     At first, it felt like he was falling in slow motion. But that was only for a micro second, before he plummeted down. The fear set in when he saw the street lamp. Two storeys down, his head hit the light with a loud smack. He was unconcious through the rest of it. 

                   He spent 18 hours in surgery, and another 72 in an induced coma. He was released from the hospital two days ago, and ended up right back in that examination room. The doctor had given him an all clear, but a killer migraine hit him hard, and he passed out on the living room floor. 

                    There he sat, in his cut-off American Psycho t-shirt and dyed black hair, beside his mother, a prim and emmaculate woman with auburn curls pulled up in a tight neat bun, and in a creaseless A-line skirt and tucked in dress shirt. The doctor, a kind man in his mid-thirties, was examining his brain scans. He sighed deeply, resigned.

                     "What is it?" Finn's mother, Gloria, asked worriedly. "Is it bad?"

                     The doctor gave them a sad look. "It's very bad," he said. "The... fall caused a serious trauma to his brain. It's irrepairable. I would say you have barely a month." 

                     Finn straightened. "Are you saying, I'm going to die in a month?"

                     "I'm sorry," the doctor replied, sympathetically. 

                     It was silent. Finn had nothing to say. His mother was speechless.She opened her mouth, but no words escaped. She felt numb. 

                   They drove back home in a pained silence. Finn fidgeted with a bunch of leaflets the doctor had given him to help him go through his last few weeks as painlessly and comfortably as possible. Once they reached home, his mother walked over to the couch in a daze, falling down on it weakly. Finn tossed the pamphlets on the coffee table and went to the kitchen to get himself some water. When he returned, his mother was still sitting on the couch, staring off into space. A lone tear had trickled down her face, leaving a wet trail behind on her otherwise perfectly pink cheek. 

                       Finn bent down to pick up the leaflets. A brightly orange coloured coloured paper caught his eye. It was an organ donation card. He picked it up. Heart, lungs, kidney, eyes, liver, intestines. Hell, he could even donate skin. 

                           That night, dinner was a silent, uncomfortable affair. Apart from 'Please pass the salt' or 'Do we have any more pie?', no words were spoken. Finn waited till his parents had finished eating before speaking. "I want to donate all my body organs."

                            His father looked at him, a pained look on his face. His mother dropped the empty plate in the dishwasher with a loud clang. Finn took a deep breath. "I know it's my fault, but we need to accept that I'm going to die. I barely have weeks to live. We don't have time to be in denial."

                             Tears were streaming down his mother's face. She was breathing hard, as if every breathe she took burned her throat. 

                            "I am going to die," he said forcefully. "We all do someday. Some before others. Some die young. Some die old. It doesn't matter when we die. What matters is, what do we do when we are still alive.  I want to help others. I can donate my organs, and many more people will get to live." 

                             He looked his parents in the eyes. "I am going to the hospital tomorrow. I will fill out the organ donation form." He stood up to leave, but his mother grabbed onto him, pulling him to her, hugging him as if her life depended on him. It probably did. She was sobbing hard. He let himself become vulnerable too. 

                                  "I love you, son," Gloria whispered into his ear, her voice breaking at every syllable. Finn nodded into her shoulder. "I know, Mom. I love you too."

                            FInn signed up for donating his kidneys, heart, lungs, corneas and liver. His blood tests showed he was O positive, a universal donor. He was sitting on the hard bed in the examination room, nursing his throbbing arm, when Dr. Larson entered.

                   She was a tall, thin, intimidating old woman who looked old enough to herself be in one of the rooms at the hospital. She held out a long, slightly rough and wrinkled hand for him to shake. "Mr. Davis, I am very sorry to hear about your condition." She spoke slowly, genuinly. Finn immediately liked her. "If it is not much of a problem, I would like to talk about the organs you are donating."

                 Finn nodded, and pulled out a chair for her. "Please, sit down." She smiled, and sat down gracefully, mumbling about all the chivalrous men having bad luck. "By all means, ask away."

                She took out a medical file from the small black bag she was carrying. "I understand you are donating your heart too." Finn nodded. "Now, you are a universal donor, meaning everyone on the list is capable of getting your heart. Normally, the person at the top of the list does."

                         "You want to tell me about the not normal circumstances?" he asked.

                      She chuckled. "You are the donor. You are enitled to your own opinion. You can choose from the list, whom the heart goes to, if you so wish to. I'm here to influence your decision." It was Finn's turn to chuckle.

                       Dr. Larson turned serious. "I have a patient. She is number three on this list. Rosie Jackson." She opened the file and showed him the details. "She is fifteen. She was adopted by a homosexual couple when she was two years old. They found out last year she has end stage Hypertrophic cardiomyopathy. She will die without a transplant within the next three months." 

                    Finn looked through the file, stopping to examine her photograph. She had a small pointed face, her skin a warm brown. Her dark hair hung around her hair in heavy curls. Her large smile fit perfectly in her face, showing her cheerful, loving side. Her eyes were chocolatey. His heart melted because of the beauty the fifteen year old managed to convey through a mere photograph. 

                        Finn looked up to see Dr. Larson staring at him. He nodded at her. "I'll talk with Dr. Copeland. Rosie Jackson gets my heart."

I know Finn's character is supposed to be philosophical, but I want him to develope that philosophical side through the one month he has left. The second prompt is in the next chapter.