Four Teens √

ADAM

The doctor said that I'll soon die. He said that the cancer had spread to my lungs. That I should enjoy the New year with my family. 

We're part of the mass of middle class families in the USA. We barely make ends meet and my sickness is slowly sucking out my parents income.

My mom usually cooks for new year's eve. She loves to make it special. I suspect it's because she's not sure which day would be my last New year's eve.

Sitting on my pure white bed spread, in my bland white room, I inhale the sweet aroma of my mom's signature chicken soup and garlic bread. Just that simple act has put me into a mini coughing fit, gasping for air.

Nowadays, it feels so hard to breath freely. It literally takes all my strength.

Prayers are said on the dinning table as my family; my mom, Dad, younger sister and I seat down to have our middle man's New Year's Eve feast. The joy radiating off our faces tells a tale of "Be content with what you have." The meal is eaten and we all retire to our various rooms after waiting on the New Year.

I sit on my white bed and stare at my white curtain. White - my favorite color - reminds me that there is pureness. It keeps me sane, blurting out all the stains of the world.

As the snow falls outside my window and the night slowly morphs into morning, I smile. I've reached a New Year. And that is a big accomplishment to me.

My new year resolution is simple: To live the rest of my life in a worthwhile way.

I'll soon die anyway.