The fault in our Sombreros

Chocolate chip Pancakes

Characters and some plot belong to the amazing, talented AWESOME John Green.

        My mother nudges my shoulder, interrupting my sleep. Startled, I bolted upright in my bed, waving my hands wildly through the cold air. I connected to my moms face, and she ducked her head after, rubbing the forming red splotch with her hand, as if trying to rub the pain away. I, being a level 3 thyroid cancer now lung cancer survivor, (for now), can note to anyone who asks that rubbing at pain does nothing more than irritate the skin.

        "Sorry mom!" still rubbing at her pale skin, she nodded, her way of saying that, despite the pain, my apology was accepted. I smiled, and looked at my puppy calendar, featuring a Dalmatian. On today's date, in my moms neat handwriting, it said 'SUPPORT GROUP.'

        With one look at the dreadful, awful, horrible, word that shouldn't even exist, I fell back onto my bed, groaning as my back hit the springy mattress. I close my eyes, and stuck my tongue out of the side of my mouth, acting dead. Despite the fact that I know it won't work, I remain in my false act, and my mother chuckles to herself.

        "I know your still alive, honey. Now get dressed. We're leaving in half of an hour." Moaning, I stood up and grabbed a pair of sweatpants and a plain blue tee shirt. My mother left the room and I pulled on the comfortable cloths, adding my sombrero, Phillipo, which also held my oxygen supply, onto my head of short brown hair. Putting on the grumpiest look I could muster, I walked through the hallway and into the kitchen, where my mother was enjoying a coffee and my dad was frying a few pieces of bacon.

        Delicious smells filled the air, and it was all that I could do to remain with an angry look on my face. When a plate of perfectly cooked bacon and a heart shaped chocolate chip pancake was placed in front of my face, the smells wafting into my nose, I lost it. With a sappy grin on my face, the pancake and bacon was gone in thirty seconds.

        "More?" already, my father had set three more pancakes and a slice of sizzling bacon on my plate, and I tore into the pancakes, gulping down teh sweet chocolatly taste.

        "Are you exited for support group, Hazel?" he asked me, spinning my sombrero around my head. shooting him a dirty look, I frowned.

        "Nwo." talking with a full mouth, I answered the question, even though I knew that it didn't matter if I wanted to go or not- I was going.

        "Well, it doesn't matter if you want to go or not. You are going and that's final." I sighed. I know my parents too well.

        Swallowing the last bite of bacon, I stood up and walked to the car without complaint. (Well I did scream that I didn't want to go and I hung onto the door and they dragged me out and they had too do my seatbelt buckle for me. but for the sake if the story I am going to say that I was a good girl and I buckled in ALL BY MYSELF!)