Sick -fack-

I

[Finn]
I'm scared. Not because I'm in pain. But because the pain's gone. I'm numb. I can't feel. Everything is gone. Nothing's left of me. I was once so happy, not a single part of my body was numb. I was full of life, love, feeling. But all of that's gone.

I know I'm sick, but I don't feel like it's me, like I'm watching a movie. Like this isn't my life. It's not my story. This isn't me.

Or maybe it's a joke. All doctors in the world got together and said "Lets trick this dumb ass kid that he's got the 3rd worse case of cancer ever seen. Let's trick him into thinking almost EVERY part of his body has some kind of cancer. Just remember, no dick cancer. That should be good, okay get to work"

That basically sums it up. I've got stage 2 bone cancer, 3 smallish brain tumors, skin cancer in four different spots, some weird type of cancer in my throat, Leukemia, and quite a few more. So I haven't really left the hospital in about four months.

I know most of the doctors and nurses by name, and they know me.

I see people come in, and I watch the same people leave... but there was this one boy. He came in, and all of my attention went to him. I never saw him leave, but I haven't seen him in the hospital either. So I guess he died.

I sit here, watching people bring in their kids because they think they're really hurt but whatever happened was minor. You know why I came here? I started to throw up blood. It's not fun. It's worse than real vomit, and even that's horrible.

It burns. Like my throat was on fire.

I once tried to kill myself, that's really hard to do in a hospital. So it didn't work. It almost did though. I broke the glass cup they make me take my pills with and sliced both of my wrists open, they found me not even a minute later and saved me, damn stupid doctors.

I'd really rather die than suffer through this. It sucks... it beyond sucks.

I don't really have anything to live for, my mom's addicted to drugs and has only come to see me twice since I was addmited. And my dad left us when I was six (This isn't really true, I just like being dramatic).

They say I'm getting better. They say the chemo's working. That all of its shrinking. That it "wasn't as bad as we first thought"

I feel bad for being disappointed that it's getting better. I feel bad that I wish it would get worse. But I mostly feel bad for the people that love me. Or I would if there was anybody who actually did.

At the moment, I'm in my wheelchair (my bones in my legs are the weak ones). Roaming the halls. Going up and down the elevator. Seeing how fast I can go down the slopes without crashing again...

Then I saw something in the corner of my eye as I sped by one of the rooms. I backed up, looking in through the window. It was him. The guy I thought was dead. He was sleeping with his lips partially separated and eyes half open, a drool stain on the side of his mouth that I could see.

"Its you" I whispered to myself.

He's the guy I couldn't stop thinking about. He looked so torn apart the first day I saw him walk in. Like he found out he was just sentenced to death. He knew what was coming for him. He knew the moment he walked in.

This was the beggining of the end.